


Sons

by Otherworlder



Series: Order of the Dark Knight [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Captain Marvel (DC), DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Shazam (Comics)
Genre: Bat Family, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 67,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9066916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otherworlder/pseuds/Otherworlder
Summary: Life has a funny conception of compensation. Three days after Damian's death, a letter arrives at Wayne Manor, bringing Bruce the one thing he cannot bear to have: a son. In which Billy Batson is the biological son of Bruce Wayne.Also posted on Fanfiction.net. I am doing a whole series hence moving it here.





	1. An Untimely Letter

Three days after Damian’s death, on a cold and unwelcoming Monday morning, Alfred Pennyworth found a rather unusual letter addressed to Bruce Wayne in a pile of random frivolities that even he wouldn’t bother to read. The unusual letter was encased in a large manila envelope, the lettering on it obviously a child’s hand, neat but by no stretch of imagination beautiful and practiced. The return address was curiously a PO box in Fawcett City. Alfred frowned, and decided to take a chance; it could be important. 

After running the letter through X-ray for booby traps and explosives and a radiation bath to kill all biological material, Alfred finally opened the envelope. There was another regular sized sealed envelope inside, also addressed to Bruce Wayne but obviously by a different hand. Along with the sealed envelope, there was another sheet of paper and two photographs, showing a very young Bruce Wayne hugging a blue-eyed beauty against the backdrop of exotic and grand mountain sceneries. Central Asia, somewhere off the Himalayas, perhaps? Alfred frowned; he had a faint suspicion of where this letter was headed. He unfolded the sheet of paper and began to read. 

 

“Dear Mr. Wayne:

I am sorry about bothering you, and I know this will seem weird, but it’s important and I hope you will hear me out.

I think you know my mom, Marilyn Batson, or Marilyn Ordway before she married. By the looks of the photos you two were good friends.” 

 

So a child wrote the opening statement too. Alfred was beginning to find the whole thing distasteful and almost wanted to stop reading, but kept going out of respect for his duty. 

“My mom passed away three years ago, but I just got some of her things recently. I found her old books and notes, photos, and a letter addressed to you.  
I don’t remember hearing my mom talk about you, sir, but maybe I was too small. I don’t know if you two are still friends, or if you had a fight or something, but I hope not. My mom is gone forever now, and I hope her friends will remember the good things about her. So I am sending you her letter and two photos. I hope you don’t mind me sending only two photos, but I thought maybe you have those already, and I would like to keep more pictures of my mom.

Thank you, sir, and I hope you have a good day. 

Yours sincerely  
William Joseph Batson

PS: I don’t think you would want to, but even if you do, please don’t write back to the return address; I don’t think it will reach me. I don’t really have a fixed address, sorry about that.”

 

Alfred blinked; this was not quite what he expected. The child sounded so genuine and artless. He looked at the yellowing photos carefully, trying to ascertain the expression on young Bruce Wayne’s face. What could this old letter from an old… flame, for the lack of a better word, contain? Maybe he will just let Bruce find out for himself. But if there was any chance that this letter contained the kind of claim he expect, waiting for Bruce to deal with it might not be the best plan, especially considering there might be an orphaned child at stake. Alfred sat there, pondering in silence for a long time, before finally reaching for the letter opener with a sigh.

As soon as he opened the age old unsent letter, a small, sealed plastic bag containing a lock of black hair tumbled out. Alfred rubbed his eyes tiredly. God forbid, the small chance this turned out to be exactly what he feared it would be! Indeed the letter contained some polite and quite distant greetings, and then the blunt statement Bruce has a son—one whom he will probably never see because the child belongs to another happy family. The whole thing was not long, but intelligent and heartfelt, with a well-crafted intensity that left no room for disagreement. 

 

“I wouldn’t say what we shared was nothing, Bruce, it would not be fair to either of us. We were two Caucasians in Nepal, we were lonely and we both needed someone, I the overwrought grad student drowning in the grief of someone else’s war, and you the billionaire vagabond wandering the world with god-knows-what vendetta on your shoulders. I liked you, and I hope you liked me enough, but we weren’t meant for raising a child together. We still aren’t. Even if this letter actually reaches you, such will not come to pass. We will not be raising this child together.

My husband urged me to send this letter, he said a man has right to know of his child, especially when he has done nothing to warrant ignorance. My husband is the best of men and he always tries to do the right thing, so at his urging I am writing this letter. But I still don’t know if I will send it. I know you are a family man deep down and you crave for the true love of kinship. Back in Nepal, in those rare moments when you let your guard down and showed me true feelings, I picked up that burning desire in you. I know you want someone on whom to shower your affections and ameliorate your regrets, and a biological son would be such an easy choice, wouldn’t it? Almost obligatory. 

But no, Bruce. I don’t want you in my life, and I don’t want you in the life of my child. Your intensity always frightened me a little, but this is not really about you. It’s simply that my life is perfectly in order right now, and my child already has the most loving family in the world, and I want nothing to interfere with that. I am not ready to have you fight me on this, especially not against the kind of lawyers your fortune can buy.

I have a distinct feeling this letter will never make its way out of the door, after all.

But just in case it does, the boy’s name is William Joseph Batson. His birthday is January 24, 2003, and he is a healthy six-month old baby. I have included a lock of his hair with the letter. No, you cannot run a DNA test with that hair; if you don’t believe my claims, do not contact me for further proof and just let it go. I would be grateful, in fact.”

 

Alfred put the ten-year old letter down and drew a staggering breath. He suddenly noticed that his hands were shaking. He, Alfred Pennyworth, the ever serene and dependable rock of this dysfunctional household, he was shaking. This was simply too much. Bruce would not be able to deal with this, not now, only three days after Damian’s death, not even for another few months or years. Alfred could not deal with it either, and for one brief minute he was sorely tempted to burn the letter and forget he ever saw such a thing. 

The old butler stood up, poured himself a glass of brandy and drank it slowly. 

Had the sudden surfacing of this unsent letter been any other way, Alfred would certainly drop the whole issue for now, give Bruce and himself time to heal and to prepare, before trying to figure out the truth. But something about the letter sounded off enough alarm bells. So the mother passed away three years ago, but why did the child say he only received his mother’s things now? What happened? Where is the father (or perhaps he should say, step father)? And most importantly, why does the boy not have a fixed address? One can only draw so many conclusions from such details—unhappy foster care, abuse, fallen through the cracks of the system, all that grim reality life has to offer. 

After finishing another glass of brandy Alfred fished out a list of private investigators from his desk. These PIs were the top of their trade and came with personal recommendations from his various sources. He spent the rest of the day picking out a name, setting up an appointment, and explaining in a completely detached manner the issue at hand. He spared all details, but since he was requesting the investigation of a minor, the basic skeleton of the story still had to come out. The private investigator, a middle-aged Ms. Lee known for her superior skills and steely discretion, nodded at the end of Alfred’s tale. 

“This case looks straightforward enough, I will check up on the child,” Ms. Lee said in a no-nonsense voice, “I understand the difficulty lies in the need for absolute secrecy, which you can depend on, Mr. Pennyworth. I will report to you in a week of my progress.”

In exactly a week’s time precise to the minute Alfred was in Ms. Lee’s office again, listening to her report. 

“William Joseph Batson, son to C. C. Batson, archaeologist, and Marilyn Batson, political scientist, both associate professors at University of Michigan. He was orphaned at age seven when both parents died in an accident at a dig site in Egypt, and lived with the only remaining relative, a cousin of Mr. Batson’s, for a while. There are three records of running away from home with the Family court in the span of a year, before he dropped out of the system and was never heard of in records again. I should mention that the Batsons had a fairly flush saving account, but not the proper trusteeship; all their wealth now belongs to Mr. Batson’s cousin. 

I have tailed the child for the past five days. He lives on the street, delivers newspaper and collects recyclables to support himself, and he still attends school, even if somewhat erratically. Based on my observations I would say he is generally healthy, if slightly malnourished, and I am confident he is not involved with drugs or gang activities. Here is a list of all locations he sleeps at, and a folder containing all files under his name. This is a blood sample I obtained under the guise of a health worker.” 

Alfred surveyed the neat files and items in front of him, and commented, “You are certainly effective and efficient, Ms. Lee.”

The investigator gave a small wave of her hand and said, “As I mentioned when I first heard the case, Mr. Pennyworth, it was quite straight forward.” She took a long pause here, before beginning again with a hint of rare hesitation, “Mr. Pennyworth, I hope you will not find my remarks unprofessional and rude, but if I may say so…?”  
Alfred nodded and gestured for her to continue. 

“I have never seen a child like this one before,” Ms. Lee pushed her glasses, “All alone in the world, lost in the urban slum, yet somehow he managed to keep himself afloat and above all the drugs, gangs, and prostitution rings plaguing the underbelly of any city. He is quite the boy scout, and extremely fortunate for remaining one despite everything. I for one would not want to test my luck and see how long he can last.”

That evening Alfred went down to the Batcave again, hoping to cajole Bruce out of there and get the DNA analysis started, without Bruce noticing, of course. It was the third day since Bruce sat himself down in front of the computer and began the virtual simulations. He would throw himself into the again and again into the confrontation that killed Damian, trying to find a way to save his little boy. So far Bruce had failed, failed, and failed again. Almost expectedly, Bruce had turned a deaf ear to Alfred’s pleas. Sighing, Alfred prepared a fresh pot of tea and left it on the small side table near Bruce, and went into the corner with all the forensics equipment.  
The DNA analysis was easy, but the waiting and planning almost too painful to bear. While he sat there in the dark corner of the cave, staring at the machines softly humming, Alfred could not distract himself from the myriad of thoughts that assailed him like a flood. What if this boy really was Bruce’s son? Surely he could not let the child continue go on living on the street, but how can he bring another boy into the Wayne manor? Never mind Bruce, even he could not bear it. And the cave, it would not be easy to hide it from someone living in the manor. Now if only the child wasn’t Bruce’s, things would certainly be easier, but perhaps for the sake of Bruce’s old friend he should do something about this William boy… So lost in thoughts, Alfred did not even notice Bruce finally emerging from his virtual crusade and walking up behind him. 

“Alfred?” Bruce asked, “What are you doing here?”

Alfred stood up hastily and drew a quick breath to reorient himself, before replying in his usual voice, “I see you are finally giving the simulations a rest, Master Bruce.”

“I have no plan to starve myself,” Bruce said briskly, his brow furrowing, “What exactly are you doing, Alfred? Is that… DNA analysis? What for?”

Just then a ringing sound from the machines behind them signaled the completion of the analysis. The result chart rolled itself across screen automatically. Alfred sneaked a quick glance, and saw the bottom line: Combined Paternity Index = 730,310; Probability of Paternity: 99.999%. The old man closed his eyes tiredly for a brief moment. 

“Alfred.” Bruce said, voice falling back into the Batman growl and blue eyes burning, the shadows under his eyes now seemed even more prominent. He enunciated each word slowly and deliberately, “Alfred, this is a paternity test. I know those alleles numbers on the left are mine. Tell me what is going on.”

Alfred sighed again and cleared his throat. “I have received a letter recently, Master Bruce, written a decade ago but never sent out until now, from a woman named Marilyn Batson, nee Ordway,” Alfred watched his employer very carefully as he finished the story, “The letter was about her son, who was born on January 24, 2003.”


	2. An Unexpected Bullet

“So when did this come in the mail?” Bruce asked. 

Somehow he managed to sound calm even as Alfred handed him the manila envelope from Fawcett City. He pulled out the two photos first, scrutinized them for a couple minutes, before tossing them to the ground with a choked laugh and moving on to the letter written by his former lover. 

“A week ago, Master Bruce.”

“Right. And when were you planning to tell me this?”

Alfred hesitated for a second, before answering, “Not for a while at least. I didn’t think you can handle it well presently, I hoped to deal with this issue alone.”

“You are right, I can’t handle this well. I can’t handle it at all.” Bruce said flatly, throwing everything onto the ground as if the paper burned him. He didn’t really read anything, only scanned a few lines and then threw them away, face showing barely concealed horror and disgust. 

“Master Bruce!” Alfred chided, quickly picking up all the photos and paper and carefully tucking them away in the large envelope. This was the first letter Bruce’s son had written him; one day Bruce will realize how important it is, one day he will. 

“I lost my son, Alfred, my son. There is no compensation for it, no condolence, nothing! Unless Damian opens his eyes and walks up to me right now, nothing else is going to make it right. Especially not this,” His voice went from a growl to a full-throated roar, echoing in the cave like the howl of a wounded wolf, “Not this goddamn joke of an attempt at providence!”

Alfred did not speak. The old man watched in sad silence as Bruce vented his steam and stalked back towards his virtual reality, the last place where he could possibly save his son. Bruce almost reached his chair when he suddenly turned around and walked back towards Alfred.

“Where did the boy’s DNA sample come from? The hair in the letter wouldn’t be usable.”

“A private investigator,” Alfred answered, “I can assure you of her discretion.”

“Why on earth, Alfred? Private investigator? You should know that if I want to look into this, I would look into this myself. One day, eventually. Do you really have a reason for doing this right now? ” Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and he looked suspicious, annoyed too.

Alfred looked back at Bruce and answered sadly, “Sir, if you bothered to read the letter young William wrote in full, you would see that Mrs. Marilyn Batson passed away three years ago, there is no mention of Mr. Batson, and the boy even said he does not have a fixed address.”

Bruce stood frozen for a few moments, before he asked in a huff, “So what did the PI find?”

“Only that the Batsons’ life savings have been robbed by Mr. Batson’s cousin, and after running away from home a few times, young William has fallen completely through the cracks of the foster care system. Presently he lives on the street, supports himself by delivering newspaper and collecting recyclables, and attends school erratically. He is healthy enough, only maybe malnourished, and is not involved with drugs and gangs. But as our investigator said, better not test our luck and see how long he can last.”

Bruce’s fist connected with one of the machines by his side, hard. There was now a dent on the gleaming metal surface and bruises forming on his knuckles. He stood there still like a statue for a good few minutes, before rasping out, “What time is it?”

Alfred pulled out his pocket watch, “Almost 10:30 at night, Master Bruce.”

“Get some sleep then,” Bruce said brusquely, “We will leave for Fawcett City after I return from patrol.”

At three am the highway was wide open, and Bruce Wayne’s Lamborghini raced across the pavement like a speeding bullet, the one-hundred eighty mile expanse covered in just over two hours. They pulled into the slums of the inner city in Fawcett just when the eastern sky was turning white. Following the list provided by the private investigator, they checked every place young William Batson could be spending the night. Some of these places were completely empty, others showed some signs of life; at the hidden nook in an abandoned subway station they found two pair of truly faded jeans that looked way too big for a ten-year old boy, a pair of sneakers, and half a dozen identical long-sleeved red tees, everything wrapped in multiple layers of plastic and stacked neatly in a corner. There was also a stash of very carefully hidden granola bars, which required a trained detective’s eye like Bruce’s to find. The very last location on the list was a small derelict apartment building already sealed off by the City. Parking the Lamborghini right outside the crumbling building, Bruce did not give all the warning signs and even the lack of a front door a second look; he just swatted the official tape away as if they were mere flies, and marched right in. 

Bruce always had this natural ability to just melt into whatever role he was playing, without even thinking much about it. 

The entire building looked abandoned and empty of human presence, but on the third floor they found a room with a mattress covered by relatively fresh looking sheet. There was a small backpack by the mattress, some paper and pen strewn about, and a half-full water bottle. Bruce walked up to the mattress and frowned at it. Then he pushed it all the way to the wall with his foot and began tapping on the floor board with his patent leather shoe. Only a few seconds later he seemed to have located whatever he was looking for. He bent down and pulled a couple loose boards open, revealing a secret cavity under the floor. 

Alfred almost smiled, and clamped his mouth shut before he could say like father like son. 

Hidden under the floor board were two scrapbooks, one full of old family photos, the other strangely with all newspaper clippings. Bruce picked up the family album and flipped through it stoically, looking at his old lover and a stranger play and laugh with their blue-eyed little baby. No, not just theirs! This was his son. The child was generally too young to look like anyone in those old photos, but certainly those were his black hair and blue eyes. 

While Bruce was still staring at the photos with a stony face Alfred picked up the other scrapbook, and had to raise an eyebrow. Not only was this scrapbook full of nothing but newspaper clippings, but nearly all of them are articles to do with crimes and corruption in Fawcett City, with a few articles on Captain Marvel, the local superhero who had appeared recently, thrown in for good measure. Now instead of being amused by the like father like son line of thought, Alfred was a little saddened. What did this boy go through, that he was so intent on learning about crime fighting at his age? Was there no escape from this crusade for the House of Wayne?

“Hey, those are mine!”

Following the voice, a small form jumped in through the window. As soon as his feet touched floor, he threw his elbow into Bruce’s midsection. Bruce deftly avoided the child’s elbows, put the scrapbook down on the floor with some care, and still had time to grab the boy’s arms. The young boy kicked out viciously at Bruce’s knee, but Bruce lifted his leg at the perfect moment and blocked the kick with his shoe. 

“That is enough!” Bruce leaned down to give the boy a Bruce Wayne board meeting glare; it was no Bat glare, but still formidable. He was about to say something else, but staring down at the young child’s half fearful and half defiant face, he was suddenly frozen to the core. 

The boy in front of him looked just like Damian. Granted, this William Batson was two shades paler than Damian, and his entire frame quite a bit bonier, but those cerulean eyes, that small, upturned nose, and Bruce’s own jaw line—if this boy ever stood beside Damian, no one would doubt that they are blood brothers. God, the thought killed him.

“Damian,” Bruce murmured almost inaudibly.

The child stilled, looking back at the grief-wracked man with uncertainty. The excruciating pain in Bruce Wayne’s posture and voice was nearly contagious, and the young boy, who was just a moment ago frightened and bristling, now put his hands on Bruce’s arm, almost as if trying to comfort him. 

“Sir, uh, I am not Damian,” He said quietly, blue eyes filling with sympathy, “Are you looking for Damian? I don’t think I know anyone by that name around here. But I can help you look for him if you want. I know a lot of people in this area.”

Bruce could not breathe. He stood there, utterly frozen. What was he supposed to say? How would he even begin to explain everything to this boy without breaking down right there? He wanted to cry, to roar, to punch something hard, and it took every ounce of his strength to just stand there, still like a statue. 

Young William Batson took a small step closer, his small hands holding Bruce’s arm firmly. A pair of big blue eyes looked up at Bruce, shining with such genuine warmth and care. Ai, that particular look was so unlike a son of the Dark Knight. Of all those boys growing up beside him, Bruce had only ever seen such an unflinchingly open and warm look from Dick, who inherited his blue eyes from better people than Bruce Wayne or Batman. “Hey, it’s okay, sir, I will try my best to help,” The child said in a brave and earnest voice, “I am sure you will find Damian. I know this is the bad part of town, but a lot of people here are very nice and helpful! I am sure Damian is fine, and we will find him, sir, we will!”

Pull. It. Together. 

Bruce told himself, enunciating each word carefully in his head. He was here to rescue this boy, his son, from a brutal life on the street. Whatever torment boiling his innards cannot interfere with this task. He must get the child away from this deadly urban slum. His soul be forever damned if he fails yet another son of his! He took a very deep breath, letting the pain wash over him and away like water.

“Gather your things, William,” Bruce said curtly, “We are going home.”

The boy instantly let go of Bruce’s arm and scurried backward like a startled rabbit, his back now against the wall. “What are you talking about? I live here. ”

“This is a derelict building sealed off for a reason. You can’t stay here.” Bruce was trying to keep his arguments short so he can finish this task and just leave, with the child in his car, of course.

“You are… You are from the City? Building services?” The boy chewed his bottom lip before mumbling, “I mean, I thought it was okay, nobody comes to this building anymore; I thought no one would mind me here. Okay, that’s fine, I can leave. I, I will find somewhere else. Just let me pack.” With that he began putting his things in to his pack. 

Bruce did not speak, only watched in silence as the child stuffed his backpack with his scrapbooks, papers and pens, the water bottle and finally the sheet. After he shouldered his backpack, the boy gave Bruce one more uncertain look. 

“Um, so are we going?”

The child walked between Alfred and Bruce, head bowed and staring down at his sneakers. They made a ridiculously image walking down the dark and crumbling stairwells of the derelict apartment building, two tall, dignified, fabulously dressed men and one bony, grimy street waif. Why, they were the poster image of American inequality, as an activist would say; the entire situation was. 

Though there was certainly some advantage to being in a building that was literally falling apart; for example, with the lack of a front door, they could see the dark gun barrels aimed their way when there was still a good distance between them and the nervous but emboldened thugs. Twenty-five feet might not be the ideal distance between one’s body and a gun, but it was still better than point blank. 

Right, a Lamborghini parked in the slums of inner city, what else should he expect?

Bruce reacted a beat slower than he would have liked. He always reacted a beat slower as simply Bruce Wayne instead of the caped Dark Knight of Gotham. There was always the thought of should I do it will I expose myself flashing through his head, it couldn’t be helped. But a beat later he leapt towards the clueless gun-toting idiots, looking fearsome even in his Armani shirt and dress pants. He was still too late, for a gunshot sounded just as his kick sent the offending criminal flying backward. 

He did not expect to hear a child’s voice scream, “Sha… Ahh!” 

Bruce dropped the remaining two thugs and whirled around, a shoe still on a downed man’s chest. It was only two seconds, two seconds since he jumped out, by all that is holy, nothing should have happened in those two goddamn seconds!

Instead he saw Alfred kneeling on the ground, the boy in his arms, and his jacket bloodstained. 

Alfred blinked at him for a few times, and then the old butler said in a cracking voice, “He pushed me away. That bullet should have hit me, but he pushed me away.”


	3. An Unavoidable Decision

“The shot is a clean through and through, Master Bruce, though the exit wound’s position is worrying. The bullet might have hit the liver. This certainly will require a trip to the nearest general hospital; I will not hear any argument. He is losing a lot of blood—how close are we?”

Just then the brakes screeched as the hospital building loomed right ahead. Doors slammed, bright lights flickered on, equipment unfolded and hummed, all mingled with an interminable stream of shouting. 

“Get the kid an IV line now, Ringer’s lactate first…”

“Move him to OR…”

“Sir, you have to let the boy go, you can’t hover here…”

“The heart monitor, is it linked?”

“Blood pressure still dropping! Just where is that blood product? I asked for it fifteen minutes ago… Damn it, the kid is type O negative isn’t he?”

“That’s it, half-dose of dopamine, now!”

A nurse emerged from god-knows where and appeared in the family room. She said breathlessly, “Sir, we had a string of car crash victims coming through last night, and now we don’t have enough stored blood components, and the closest general hospital that might have extra is at least an hour away. We don’t normally do this, but any chance either of you have type O negative blood?”

“I am type O negative, take all that you need.” 

This was the first time Bruce spoke since coming out of the abandoned apartment building. His voice was hoarse, a gravelly whisper, and his words came out in a halting slur, as if he had suddenly lost grip of the English language. 

“Thank God. Come with me this way then.”

The light outside the operation room finally dimmed after almost three hours, which, if anything, should be consoling. Only uncomplicated trauma surgeries turn off the lights in less than three hours—or unsuccessful ones. Seeing the lights go off Bruce stood up also, and by the time the head surgeon returned to his office, Bruce was already sitting there. 

“Ah, hi, I am Doctor Frank Mills, I am the head trauma surgeon for the boy you brought in,” The doctor looked understanding enough; he offered a tired handshake before continuing, “The hospital has been trying to contact the child’s guardian to no avail, and seeing that you brought the kid in, do you know how we might get in touch with the Batsons? And we never did get your name and your relationship to the patient, Mr….?”

“Bruce Wayne.”

Doctor Mills blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“The name is Bruce Wayne,” Bruce said stonily, “And I am family. Tell me how the boy is doing.”

Doctor Mills paged through his papers, before saying with a frown, “We do have a file for this child; he came here once two years ago. His legal guardian is actually the state of Michigan, under the foster care of Mr. Adam Batson. No mention of you, Mr. Wayne. With a gunshot wound like that, we can only release information to legal guardians and the police of course.”

“From this day forward his legal guardian will be me, unless either the state of Michigan or Mr. Batson care to contest the custody claim of the child’s biological father, who also has a team of Skadden lawyers,” Bruce’s flat voice brooked no dissension, “Now tell me about his condition.”

Doctor Mills looked thoroughly stunned and unnerved. He blinked a few times, shook his head with barely veiled disapproval, before replying, “Alright, here is the situation, Mr. Wayne. The bad news, the bullet did graze the liver, and tore up a lot of blood vessels; the good news is that it is only type II injury on the liver, generally considered minor, and we have all internal bleeding under control. He is stable now, but he will need to be under strict observation for a few days, to ensure there are no further complications.”

Bruce Wayne did not even blink, his face rigid like a mask of marble. He only asked, “Can he be moved to another facility?”

Doctor Mills shook his head and replied, “No, I would strongly advise against it, for the next two days at the very least. If he looks stable enough on the third day, we can consider moving him to another hospital, or home care. If you are actually serious about becoming the boy’s guardian, Mr. Wayne, can’t you spare a few days to see him through this first?” 

The last question came as a challenge as well as an accusation, but Bruce was too tired to react. He only asked, “May I see him now?”

When Bruce and Alfred came into the sickroom young William Batson was sleeping peacefully, deep inside a drug-induced slumber. He was still connected to the myriad of machines around him, an IV line for blood transfusion attached to his thin arm, and an oxygen mask covering his mouth. The boy’s face was so pale, which only accentuated the gauntness of his cheeks and the shadows under his eyes, and the rows of thick dark lashes that would have been adorable on any other child but only managed to look out of place on him. 

Bruce stood there for a long time, staring down at the sleeping child, before he said in a low voice without ever moving a muscle, “I can’t do this, Alfred.”

Alfred sighed in silence. “Which part? Facing the incoming media frenzy, explaining your story to young William, or welcoming another son into your home, Master Bruce?”

The old Englishman saw Bruce start and knew he hit a very raw nerve. But he did not regret his rare case of bluntness. They could not walk away from this boy now; there was little time left to coddle Bruce’s wounds.

Bruce stood in stony silence for a while longer, before pulling out his phone and sending a couple text messages. “I have contacted people at Wayne Industries,” He said, “Told them to send over a team of lawyers and PR specialists. They will sort out the boy’s custody issues and get him back to Gotham when he can be moved.” With that he stuffed his phone into his pocket and turned to leave.

“And where are you going, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked sternly.

“Home. My dark undisturbed corner in the cave. Alfred, just give me a couple days, there’s still a couple days,” A note of despair cracked through the billionaire’s voice, “I can’t do this right now, I can’t.”

With that he stormed out of the sickroom and fled Fawcett City like a common fugitive. 

Bruce threw himself back into the virtual world with extra vehemence. Seeing Damian’s face inside the virtual world once more, even a hollow, untouchable reconstruction of it, still hurt like a knife to the guts. He was still failing, again and again, and there was a few times when he thought he could see another child’s blue eyes staring at him from Damian’s face, boring into his very soul, before Heretic’s sword would impale his son with a sort of irrefutable finality. He could not save him, Bruce realized, he could not save any of them, not Damian, not Jason, not Barbara, not even Tim and Dick, and no way in hell could he save William. 

He could not be a father. 

Already numb from all the pain and the regret, too numb to stand up and rejoin the world of the living, Bruce sank into this impossible task without ever surfacing to even take a breath of fresh air. It was impossible, so he would die trying; it all made sense, so simplistically appropriate. 

Bruce did not know how much time had passed when he heard light footsteps behind him. His concentration was still fixed on his virtual mission and he simply let the newcomer approach. It was just Dick; the young man was careful to trip the necessary alarms and let himself be seen as he came in. Bruce only spoke when he noticed Dick standing directly behind him, staring down at him and the screen.

“So I suppose the news broke? Is that why you came?”

There was a slight hesitation before Dick answered, “Yes, Bruce, I heard about Fawcett City and I talked to Alfred briefly, that’s why I came.”

“Alfred’s sending-in-the-cavalry tactic is getting old,” Bruce muttered. 

“Bruce, I…”

“No, can it, Dick,” Bruce cut in, “I don’t need that conversation right now. And I am not ready to give this up, not yet. There has to be a way.”

There was another pregnant pause, before Dick asked, “Is this thing two player?”

Bruce paused for even longer. Of all things he expected to hear from Dick, this was not one of them. At last he said, “It can be.”

“Alright,” Dick pulled up a chair beside him and threw a pair of virtual vision glasses over his face. 

Dick did all of this without even the slightest hint of awkwardness, as if jumping into virtual reality to try to save the dead and passed son of his mentor was the most natural thing in the world. There was no hesitation, no judgment, not even empathy or sympathy, only his usual earnestness and his unfailing trust in his mentor. Bruce gave him a quick look, and had to bite back the sudden desire to reach out and grasp Dick’s hand. 

And this time Bruce—nay, they—did not fail. As the scene cleared, Heretic was down, and Damian stood before them, battered and bloody but his blue eyes still shining bright behind the smashed lenses of his mask. 

“Now we go after my mother,” the virtual Damian said in his normal smug voice, a smirk on his face, even as his image was becoming more and more transparent. 

“This did less than I thought it would do,” Batman said in a hollow voice, hands on Damian’s non-existent small shoulders, “He’s gone, left behind a black hole that can’t be filled…”

Dick removed his glasses and looked at his mentor with a gentle light in his eyes. “He left something tangible behind, a father who loved him and a son who loved his father, a beloved little brother to all of his siblings.” Here Dick paused a moment, before squaring his shoulders, and his blue eyes gaining a new intensity, “I know you haven’t accepted your loss yet; it is too much to ask, I know. But please turn this loss, this tragedy, into something good—something better. Not just for your sake and his, but for all the people of Gotham, and one more who needs you right now.”

Bruce did not speak for a long time and the two of them sat there facing each in dead silence. After what seemed like forever Bruce finally muttered in a low bitter voice, “I don’t know if I can. Perhaps I can live with Damian’s death, but I will never accept it, and I will only drive others away. This boy, he looks just like Damian, and I won’t be able to see past that. I will want to avoid his presence, flee from his face and voice.” By God, he would only fail again with yet another child. 

“No one said it will be easy, but you realize, Bruce, that kid doesn’t have any bright prospect if you don’t at least try? And perhaps…” Dick took a deep breath, “Will you let me help? I lost a partner too, and a little brother. I will do everything in my power to protect my new brother. Like you, I never want to repeat that regret, ever.”  
Bruce sighed and finally stood up. “I suppose I should return to Fawcett City, and you should go back to whatever you were doing. You shouldn’t get involved with Bruce Wayne’s tabloid stories. I appreciate the offer, and you can come around for dinner anytime, just stay out of this mess for now.”

Seeing Bruce made ready to leave, Dick began hesitantly, “Wait, there is one more thing I thought I should talk to you about. When the boy comes to the manor, will you, I mean…”

Bruce half turned. “Will I what?”

Dick stilled, before shaking his head and murmuring, “Never mind, we can talk about this later.”

“There is nothing to talk about,” Bruce tossed his towel and said in a very flat voice, “William won’t be my partner or yours, or anyone’s. He will be strictly upstairs. I can’t lose another son. I won’t.”

Dick winced at Bruce’s retreating backs and sighed. Like that was ever going to work.


	4. An Untenable Promise

“He is not my real father, he can’t be,” Hands waving about madly, young William Batson repeated for the umpteenth time since he awoke from his drug-induced sleep and heard the general drift of the story, “My dad may be dead, but I still remember him! His name was C. C. Batson, he was a great archaeologist, spoke fluent Arabic and could read Hieroglyphics, and he really loved my mom and me, he… Ouch!” For all his determination the boy’s voice was already weak, and the spirited arguing did little to help his injuries. His wild gestures pulled a wrong muscle, and he doubled over in pain, instinctively reaching for his injury.

“Master William!” An alarmed Alfred grabbed the boy’s hand, trying to make the child sit still, “Excuse me for being blunt, but you have a hole in your side, young master; you cannot move about gesturing like this! Why don’t you lie down and catch some more sleep? We can talk about all this later, how is that?” 

“But Mr. Alfred, this…”

“Lie down first, and keep your hands still!” Alfred said in a very stern voice, “We will only have this discussion if I am sure you are not in any danger of pulling the stitches and injuring yourself further.”

Alfred’s voice did its magic, as the small boy lied down again, trying his best to keep still, though he was still eyeing the old butler with a pleading look. Alfred sighed and tried again, “Master William, as I told you before, the old letter your mother wrote and that you so kindly forwarded to Master Bruce contained the truth from her own hand. She told Master Bruce you are his son and even included your baby hair in the letter. We have already performed a paternity test, and DNA analysis shows Master Bruce is indeed your real father. We are a hundred percent certain on this point. Do you know what DNA analysis is, young man?”

“I have seen it on TV; I guess it works, but…” The boy mumbled, “But mom never even mentioned Mr. Wayne’s name! I mean Mr. Bruce Wayne is really famous, and I know he is probably a good man, I know he funds Batman and Justice League and all that. If my mom really was so close to him, so close that he is my real father, why didn’t mom ever even mention his name? Like, never!”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. The first thing the child mentioned about Bruce Wayne was the funding source for Batman and Justice League? The keen interest in crime-fighting and superheroics was indeed very real! Pushing aside the troubling thought, Alfred answered patiently, “Your mother met Mr. Wayne in Nepal; she was doing fieldwork for her graduate studies there and Mr. Wayne was simply traveling. You might not know this, but at the time Nepal was embroiled in civil war. Due to the nature of her studies, your mother chased after conflicts, and Mr. Wayne was simply good at finding trouble as a young man. Perhaps it was the necessity of the situation that they became close and even had a child, but certainly your mother stated clearly in her letter that she did not love Mr. Wayne and she wanted no disruption to her life. She loved Mr. Batson and you very, very much, Master William, and judging by her letter, Mr. Batson loved you too, even though he knew the truth all along.”

The boy’s big blue eyes looked watery. He dragged one hand across his eyes and said, “Yes sir, my parents loved me very much, I never doubt it, even though they left me behind.”

Alfred took the boy’s hand and said gently, “You had the most loving parents in the world, a very happy family. If Master Bruce had discovered the truth a few years ago, he would have respected your mother’s wishes and watched quietly from afar. But it is different now, Master William, you are all alone in the world, so please let us take care of you.”

The boy was chewing on his lip again. He didn’t speak, but his reluctant expression was easy enough to read. While he looked somewhat mollified about the sudden appearance of a biological father, he clearly did not want to be taken care of, certainly not by them. 

“Think about your parents, Master William,” Alfred cajoled, “Would they not be sad watching you live like this, out on the street, constantly in danger, and without a warm bed and a good meal? Surely they will be happy knowing there is a home for you.”

The boy only shook his head and answered slowly, “I live here in Fawcett City, I… I can’t just get up and leave. I have things to do here. I have responsibilities. My dad would never forgive me if I just got up and abandoned everything here.” His voice has gained a new edge, determined and steely, and his stern expression now the mask of a soldier. It was subtle, but Alfred had seen such a look before, on the face of Master Bruce and on the faces of his many “children”. He frowned, and felt worry worming its way into his heart. No child should wear that look. Are the streets of Fawcett City truly so terrifying and defining? If that was the case, they must get the boy out now. 

So Alfred tried again, “Master William, you are very young, only ten years old. Don’t you think your biggest responsibilities should be eating healthy meals, attending school, playing, and growing up big and strong? Wouldn’t that be what you parents want to see?”

“You don’t have to talk to me like that,” The boy bit back sharply. 

For a terrifying moment Alfred saw Damian’s eyes look back at him, two pools of blue fire. William did not have Damian’s overbearing arrogance, but he was certainly confident, and there was a sliver of impatience hanging at the corner of pursed lips, as if he was tired of speaking to someone who simply would not understand. Damian often wore that look when speaking of his mother. And the fierce light in the boy’s eyes was almost exactly the same as Damian’s. It was heartbreak all over again. Even Alfred was beginning to waver: the prospect of raising Damian’s brother suddenly seemed much more terrifying than first envisioned. 

Unlike Damian, William then had the good grace to blush a little, embarrassed by his own attitude. He added quietly, “I am sorry, Mr. Alfred, I know you mean well. It’s just that I am not like most other kids my age; I am good enough to live on the street and generally get by, right? I have seen more stuff, the good and the bad, than most grown-ups… Well, I mean, more than most teenagers or young people at least?” The young boy blushed again, but continued on with determination, “The point is, I have so many things I need to do here in Fawcett. I can’t really live with Mr. Wayne, it won’t work out.”

“Whatever your self-appointed crusade is, I won’t hinder you.”

Following the deep baritone voice, Bruce Wayne walked in. He was still dressed in his impeccable Armani shirt and dress pants, a gleaming tablet computer in hand, looking ever the sharp businessman, but his eyes were bloodshot as if he hadn’t closed them for a long time.

“Hi William, how are you doing?” Bruce was trying to be cordial and more parent-like, but the question still came out curt and unfeeling, and there was no smile on his face. 

“Er, hi, Mr. Wayne,” The boy answered awkwardly, “Thanks… Thank you for visiting me. I am doing fine, I guess. It doesn’t really hurt, as long as I don’t move, that is.”

Bruce pulled up a chair and sat down next to the child’s bed. Putting the tablet on his lap, he began, “I did a little research on you as I drove into Fawcett City, William. I noticed you are quite the Santa’s little helper for the Occupy Fawcett movement those couple years past. How did you come to know the informal leader Dudley H. Dudley so well? You were running errands for him all across the city.”

The young boy flushed scarlet this time and would have shot up to a sitting position and probably injure himself further if it weren’t for Bruce’s hand on his shoulder. “How… How did you find out? I didn’t talk to any press people!” He whispered.

“I am a good researcher and I have my sources,” Bruce waved a hand dismissively, before asking with a curious expression, “Why are you trying to not be seen? Surely you cannot be ashamed; you think it is the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, but the whole thing would not look so good with a little street kid running around doing things. It is supposed to be about honest, hard-working people asking for fairness, and I probably don’t come off as an honest, hard-working person. I mean, I am a homeless kid skipping school. But I do want to help.” The boy shrugged; his reply sounded just a touch surly, but mostly it was filled with self-deprecating humor.

Bruce’s left hand clenched, and he asked, voice sharper than intended, “Is that why you don’t want to come to live with me? Because your involvement in the Occupy movement? You consider me the one percent? Even if you want to pursue activism, it should come after having a decent meal and a roof over your head, and good education. I would not hinder you from pursuing a good cause, never. In any case, the movement is a thing of past now. Even if there is some sort of continuation, it would not require a little boy like yourself running errands across town.”

The boy stared up at Bruce Wayne. There was an ironic gleam in his blue eyes, and it almost looked like he was about to bark out a wisecrack comment, but instead he only said, “I have other things to do as well, here in Fawcett City.”  
Bruce breathed a very small sigh and asked in a softer voice, “Like finding your mother’s lost research?”

“How did you know about this one?” 

“I know everything,” Bruce said simply, “I heard about the big research your mother was doing from her own lips, and have heard hints about it from friends in academia and in government. It was going to be a groundbreaking project when it came to full light, except it never did. You mentioned in your letter that you just found some of your mother’s things recently, so I thought perhaps you also noticed something missing. Your mother’s research is very important, it needs to be found, but this is not something you can do on your own; this is a job for the professionals. I plan on hiring private investigators and using my contacts in the FBI.”

This time the boy did not speak, only looked at Bruce, expression softer but still guarded. Father and son stared at each other in silence for a few moments, before Bruce began again in a gruff but remarkably candid voice that was in truth closer to Batman than the mask named Bruce Wayne, “Listen, William, I am not telling you all this to bribe you into my home. That particular issue is not up for negotiation. I am your biological father and your legal guardian; I will not leave you to the mercy of inner city slumlords. You are coming home with me. But I do want you to know that I am not trying to remake your life completely. There will be changes for you, certainly, but only good ones. Those noble things you want to pursue, I will only help you. As you said yourself, I fund the Batman and the Justice League already; you can count me in to help another boy do good things for the world.”

Another long silence, and then young William Batson asked in a very small but hopeful voice, “Do you promise? If I want to do good things, will you always help me? Always?”

“Yes,” Bruce Wayne replied swiftly.

Finally the boy smiled, nearly beaming, and he reached out and put his hand on Bruce’s arm. His touch was almost as firm and warm as when he was back in that derelict apartment, reaching out instinctively and trying to console Bruce over Damian. “Thank you very much, Mr. Wayne,” The child said, “I will think about it.”

“Think about it?” Bruce actually felt amused by the boy’s stubborn independence, but his expression showed more sternness than amusement, “I did say your homecoming is not up for negotiation.”

“I… I guess. I mean, I will think about how to live in Gotham, sir,” The boy muttered. 

Bruce put a hand on the boy’s head and carefully smoothed over the child’s raven locks. It was also a new effort for him; he was not one to show affection through physical gestures, and Damian would look at him as if he had grown a second head if he ever tried to arrange Damian’s hair. But William looked like someone who would appreciate the gesture. “Why don’t you get some more sleep, William,” He said softly, “Your body needs a lot of rest.”

The boy nodded, and after a moment of hesitation he said, “Um, you can call me Billy, Mr. Wayne. Everyone calls me Billy.”

“Right, now get some sleep, Billy.”

Bruce watched as Alfred coaxed some more water and medicine into Billy, before leaving the room with Alfred. Once they were standing outside the boy’s sickroom, Bruce noticed that Alfred was wearing a somber frown on his face. The older man seemed both wary and disappointed.

Bruce reviewed his actions quickly, before asking, “What? I thought I did alright in there?”

“Master Bruce,” The butler said slowly, “You said to the little boy in there that so long as he wishes to do good you will help him. That is a serious promise, Master Bruce, one that will have unforeseen consequences. ”

Bruce shrugged, but the motion did not quite dispel all the tightness of his shoulders. “His mother’s case I should have looked into long ago. Marilyn’s research is about forecasting accurately political instabilities; it has unimaginable impact. Her work needs to be made public, instead of sitting in the hands of the select few with ulterior motives, like it is probably doing right now. And as for the boy’s stint with the Occupy movement, that’s a non-issue. He can be a champion for distributive justice if he wants, I don’t need to stop him there.”

“You don’t need to stop him there, but what about elsewhere?” Alfred asked pointedly, “What if the boy wishes to do good the way you do, Master Bruce?”

“No,” Bruce spun around abruptly, “No. He will be strictly upstairs. He won’t even come close to the crossroad, never mind actually going down that path. You will help me shield him from all of it, that’s an order, Alfred.”

We all wish it is that simple, Alfred mused sadly.


	5. An Unheralded Return

Only three days after waking up, Billy was looking like an inmate. The boy would stare longingly out the small window of his hospital room, even though all he could see was a patch of sky, usually grey, and maybe a sparrow flitting by if he was damn lucky. By now the paparazzi almost had the hospital surrounded, and Bruce was finding it difficult to get in and out of the hospital, and many times he was sorely tempted to resort to Batman techniques. So on the fourth day, when doctors finally signed the release paper, everyone was quite relieved, even if Bruce had the carry the boy out the hospital in his arms and wade through a crowd of cameras and recorders like a soldier braving open fire.

For the first few days in the Wayne Manor Billy seemed like a perfectly ordinary child. Given the boy's injury and the lingering media frenzy Bruce and Alfred kept Billy at home, letting him explore the manor and getting used to his new lifestyle. Dick came over a few times to talk to his newest "brother", and Tim, despite being still on the other side of the continent, did send a well-mannered if very tentative greeting in email through Alfred. Billy was more than happy to get to know Dick, and proved nearly just as chatty as the once circus brat. He also wrote Tim a gushing email in return once he figured out how to use the computer in his room and how to set up an email account. He only seemed a little unusual in his exploring. For all his wide-eyed wonder he worked with a methodical care that seemed entirely out of place.

"He is mapping the security cameras and sensors on the manor grounds, the little brat," A few days later Bruce commented darkly with a stormy expression on his face. Bruce hadn't spent much time talking with his new found child in those few days, opting for silent observation from unseen corners when it was not too painful, and he did not like what he saw.

Alfred sighed and replied, "Yes, that seems like what he is doing, but Master Bruce, I hope you will hold off putting cameras in his room and tracer on every piece of his clothing until at least he has given you a very good reason to do so."

Bruce pursed his lips, but his silence only a partial acquiescence. The next day when Dick came to visit, he brought his little brother a smartphone and was eager to show the boy how to use this shiny new gadget.

"Just something to help you find us wherever you are," Dick explained, "You have everyone in the family on speed dial: 1 is for Alfred, 2 is for Bruce, and dial 3 you will find me; 4 is for Barbara, you haven't met her yet but you will; she is my best friend and one very tough girl! So whenever you need us, whatever you need us for, just press a key and we will be there. Though you should always call Alfred first; the rest of us are useless compared to him!"

"And you guys can track me through it right?" Billy asked.

"Exactly!" Dick was mildly uncomfortable that the Billy saw through the ploy so easily, but he did not let his true sentiments be known, only added, "This way we won't ever worry ourselves sick about you; we will always know where you are."

"That is really cool!" Billy said in a bright and happy voice, seemingly at ease with the idea of being tracked, "Is there any way I can track you guys through the phone too? It would be nice to always know where you guys are, so I can always find you if any of you ever need help."

Dick raised an eyebrow, not too sure what to make of such a declaration. Do most ten-year-olds think about tracking and protecting their families? So Dick put a hand on the little boy's head and mussed up his hair, saying with a laugh, "Now that's rich! You are ten, Billy. If any of us ever run into any trouble, we certainly wouldn't want you to come running after us and getting stuck in the same trouble!"

"But I…" Billy gave his big brother a very small frown, but then decided to change the subject and asked, "Okay. And how do I set up alarm clocks on this? I need one; it's really hard waking up early for school!"

"You too, huh? Here, watch. So when do you want to wake up? You know you can also set your phone with all sort of alarms and reminders."

"Really? What about websites' updates?"

"Depending on the kind of websites. What do you have in mind?"

"Like the Gotham police or emergency response website? I know we had one in Fawcett City."

Dick raised both eyebrows in surprise this time. Really, what was up with the kid? He did first set up the phone to receive police station alerts, before asking in a casual voice, "So why would you want to set up something like that, Billy?"

"Well, you know," The boy sounded totally calm and comfortable with his assessment, "I lived in the bad parts back in Fawcett City, so it helps a lot to receive all the police alerts; you want to when a dangerous situation comes up."

"What kind of dangerous situations are we talking about here?"

"Gang wars, shootings, robbery standoffs, I don't know, the usual stuff?" The boy offered another shrug, and then seeing the look of horror and disbelief on Dick's face he quickly added, "Oops, sorry, that came out wrong. It really doesn't happen often! But it's helpful to know if there is a shooting, so you can avoid the area and avoid the police or other bad guys, stuff like that."

Dick put his hands on the small boy's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Listen, Billy, all that is going to change," Dick said in a very serious voice, "You don't have to worry about any of that now. We will keep you safe, we all will, I swear it."

Billy nodded and mumbled with a small embarrassed smile, "Thanks, Dick, but it's okay. I mean, it's not like I really lived in danger back in Fawcett City. There were so many nice people where I lived! And so many people who helped me out. Fawcett is actually a pretty nice city, really."

At that Dick smiled as well, "Hey, it's great that you appreciate the people who helped you. I am sure most of the people in Fawcett are nice. Gotham too! I know it has a bit of a bad name, but there are so many great people and so many heroes here in Gotham."

"Totally! Like Batman! And Nightwing too. Oh oh and I heard there is a Batgirl too, though some people say she is more like an urban legend, but it would be totally cool if there is a Batgirl. Do you know if she is real, this Batgirl? And it's too bad Nightwing isn't in the Justice League, I think he would fit in!"

The boy's enthusiasm made Dick laugh. "Wow, slow down, squirt; don't get too excited. Now listen here, Batman and Nightwing might be cool, but don't go running off looking for them, alright? They only ever show up in places no one really wants to go in any case."

Billy nodded and looked back at his big brother with a lop-sided grin, blue eyes sparkling, a look that seemed to guarantee mischief. Uh oh, Dick thought, but could not stop himself from laughing and messing up the boy's hair once again.

Once Dick left, Billy returned to playing with his phone with gusto. Copying what Dick did, he set up alerts for updates from the Fawcett City police website, and also tried to set up alerts for certain keywords from major global news outlets. He was immensely proud of the fact he only had to go to Alfred for help once to accomplish the whole task, even if Alfred gave him a long, curious look. Technically Billy's standard-issue Justice League communicator could do all of that, but he always kept his League device hidden until he was actually Captain Marvel, so the League would not be able to track Billy Batson. As much as he respected and trusted and positively idolized each and every member of the League, he still wanted to keep his true ten-year-old identity to himself. Having another gadget that will alert Billy Batson whenever he is needed would definitely be helpful.

It didn't occur to Billy that he should get an alert that very night, but the alarm sound from the phone nearly frightened him out of his very large bed.

After waking up proper, he groaned before reaching for the phone, eyeing it blearily and trying to see what was wrong. The headline on the screen read, "Major fire at Fawcett downtown east side, three apartment buildings aflame; firefighters on scene, families still trapped."

"Holy moly," The boy whispered, now all sleepiness gone.

It was as good a time as any to test how well he had mapped out Wayne Manor's security cameras.

With a muted cry of "Shazam", small and frail Billy Batson changed into Earth's Mightiest Mortal. Calling down the lightning indoor seemed sketchy, but the room was big, and it was still safer than having all those cameras outside catch a stroke of lightning on a perfectly cloudless night. Captain Marvel opened the sliding glass door that led from his room to the large balcony and stepped out. Very carefully, with his back against the wall, he pulled the door close again but left it unlocked. He had tested this with various props before, and he was sure that even someone of the Captain's size could stay hidden from the first camera at the other end of the balcony as long as he kept his back to the wall. Once the door was closed all he had to do was fly away at a speed fast enough to defeat all cameras and motion sensors.

Captain Marvel reached the burning buildings in Fawcett City only a blink of an eye later. A few seconds later he appeared before an ambulance with two young girls in his arms and an older boy hanging on his neck.

"Parents still inside, going back in, be right back!" Captain Marvel said after the emergency workers secured the children and quickly disappeared into the flaming building once more, quite oblivious to the applause and triumphant shouting that suddenly broke out among the onlookers.

The whole rescue mission took quite a bit longer than what the Captain anticipated. There were more than two dozen people still caught in the three buildings when Captain Marvel arrived on the scene, and it was not an easy task extracting them all, especially considering once he had those frightened and possibly injured people in his arms, he could no longer move about so freely and so fast. Fawcett City's paltry emergency service was way overtaxed again, and there simply weren't enough ambulances to take everyone to the hospital, so Captain Marvel ended up having to serve as hospital transport as well. When finally all people have been saved and the fire put out, the red-clad hero gave a satisfied sigh. All in a good night's work for Captain Marvel!

He decided to do a round of patrol in Fawcett City, since he was already here and the police and other emergency response teams in Fawcett were probably overwhelmed this night. But it was generally quiet, only a couple minor gang fights to break up, and just as Captain Marvel prepared to head back to Gotham, he saw a large LED billboard screen glare back at him with a curt and tense message.

"Come on up now; we need to talk. –C"

"Oops," The Captain murmured and made a face.

He should have realized, he wasn't completely alone in this hero business anymore. If you drop off all communications and become invisible to all surveillance for days on end, your allies and friends will worry.

"Better bring some major peace offering," Captain Marvel murmured to himself and made a beeline for Gotham, his new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! A toast to a great 2017 (hopefully much, much better than 2016). A big shout out and thank you to everyone who reviewed; I hope you will continue to enjoy the story!


	6. An Unfortunate Situation

It was only another second, and Captain Marvel was standing on the balcony outside his room again, carefully positioned to be out of the sight of security cameras. He pushed the unlocked sliding door open, went into his room, and promptly called down the thunderbolt of the Shazam. 

Young Billy took a couple seconds to breathe, before pushing open the great wooden door of his room and tiptoeing into the hall. What he did not expect was the black mass of Titus, the resident Great Dane, curled up just a dozen feet ahead, taking up nearly half of the corridor. The enormous dog seemed to be sleeping with his head on his front paws. 

“Oh boy,” Billy murmured. His tiptoeing became even more exaggerated as he tried to sneak past the dog noiselessly. 

But just as Billy walked by the dog, Titus rose from his slumber and eyed the little boy, then gave a lazy wag of his tail.

“Good boy, don’t bark and wake up Mr. Wayne and Alfred, alright?” Billy whispered to the dog, “I am just heading down to the kitchen to grab some food. If you are a good boy and don’t bark I will share some with you! How is that, Titus?”

The Great Dane cocked his head, eyeing Billy with what almost looked like a smirk. When Billy started walking towards the kitchen once more the dog followed, tail wagging all the while. Well, at least the dog was quiet, Billy told himself. But when the boy and the dog passed Bruce Wayne’s room, Titus suddenly started barking, loudly. 

“Titus!” Billy cried, aghast. He put a hand on the dog’s head and scratched, pleading, “Come on, boy, don’t wake up Mr. Wayne!”

Titus was wagging his tail enthusiastically and eyeing Billy with this little conspiratorial spark in his eyes. He only barked louder.

“Oh come on,” Billy eyed the dog glumly, wondering if this silly creature ever got Damian in trouble the same way, “We are so going to talk about your dog when you get back, brother mine.”

But when Mr. Wayne did not appear from behind the door to question him with a stern face Billy had to blink. Why wasn’t Mr. Wayne up? Surely he could not have slept through Titus’s obnoxious barking right outside his door. Unless that door was actually soundproof? Or maybe Mr. Wayne was in trouble, drunk or even hurt, so he couldn’t wake up? Now worried, Billy pushed open the door to Bruce’s bedroom and reached for the light switch.

The master bedroom turned out to be completely empty. The fancy bedspread did not have a single wrinkle, the pillows perfectly fluff and smooth, everything was spotless but also looked untouched for a long time. Billy stared at the dead emptiness for a few seconds, then he turned off the light, closed the door, and went to look for Alfred. He was completely unprepared to find Alfred’s room also empty. 

What was going on? How come he was the only one in the manor, where did Alfred and Mr. Wayne go? Maybe he should try calling them on his new phone? Billy hesitated, but after a few moment’s pondering he shook his head. There was no sign of any trouble inside the manor; Mr. Wayne and Alfred were probably just off doing adult business. After all, the head of Wayne Industries must be really busy. In any case, Billy really had to sort out his own business too; he couldn’t let his friends and allies worry about him indefinitely. So the young boy continued on to the kitchen. He took the remaining two squares of Alfred’s special coffee cake out of the fridge and packed them in a fancy box, before returning to his room. Now peace offering in hand, it was time to make quite a few apologies.

When Captain Marvel arrived at the Watchtower Cyborg was not happy. 

“Seriously, Captain Marvel?” With enough frustration and worry, the usually serene young man had no problem lecturing a much older looking hero, “Hiding your League communicator and just disappearing off the grid for good? Ten days without a single word? The League respects your identity and your privacy, we really do, but we need to know you are alright! You can’t just cut off all communication links and disappear from every single camera on the face of the planet! We are all really worried about you, Captain. Please don’t do that to us again. Even Batman gives me a few back shots on various city surveillance cameras so I know he is not dead or dying. Give me at least that much, alright?”

Captain Marvel was looking wholly chagrined, like a small boy caught being naughty. When Cyborg stopped to take a breath he quickly extended his hands, “I am really sorry, Cyborg, really, really sorry! Here, um, peace offering?”

Already Cyborg’s expression was a shade softer. He eyed the food box and asked, “What is it?”

“Only the best coffee cake money can’t buy!” Captain Marvel beamed at Cyborg, before adding, “Look, Cyborg, I am truly sorry for making you worry, I really didn’t mean to! I ran into a bit of trouble in the past few days, that’s all; I couldn’t really make contact or even be seen without leaking my identity. But it’s all good now.”

“What happened? That sounds like big trouble.” Cyborg was looking alarmed again.

“Oh, it’s not the usual kind of trouble,” Captain Marvel explained hastily, “It’s my trouble, like, personal stuff, family stuff. Apparently I have a real father I never even heard of before, that kind of stuff. It’s been… a little weird. Argh, let’s not talk about it, Cyborg.” Here the mighty hero sighed, and a sulking look stole over his handsome features.

“Yeah, er, sorry to hear that, hope everything works out for you,” Cyborg said with a small wince and ample awkwardness. 

Captain Marvel has been an invaluable addition to the Justice League; anyone with Superman’s strength, Flash’s speed, and rich knowledge of magic would be an extremely useful ally. While his childishness seemed odd at times for someone so powerful and regal, everyone in the League liked him for his youthful exuberance and unending cheer. Yet Captain Marvel remained the well-liked stranger. It might be because he was a late comer and hadn’t yet gone through a life-and-death situation with the rest of the League, or perhaps it was the hero politely informing the League his secret identity will never see the light of day, or it might even be his excessive boyishness, but whatever it was, he did not mix well most of the time. Only Cyborg shared a connection and a tentative friendship with the mythic hero; it was easy for them to talk and laugh together. Cyborg secretly thought Captain Marvel was probably closer to his own age rather than to Batman’s age, which was what the Captain looked like. 

But even at the best of times Cyborg could not claim to really know Captain Marvel. Now that the Captain mentioned family trouble, Cyborg was at a total loss as to how to respond. Good thing the Captain didn’t want to talk about it either. 

“Hey Cyborg, why don’t you try some of that coffee cake? It’s really good I promise! And it took me quite a bit of work to get it for you!”  
Captain Marvel sounded cheerful again, as if he didn’t just blurt out something about finding a father. Rather he was eyeing Cyborg with his typical grin. Cyborg smiled too and opened up the box.

“Oh my god, this really is the best coffee cake I have ever had!”

“I told you so! Um, now that you are in a better mood, there is something else I need to tell you.”

“Yeah? Come on out with it, I think the cake is going to make up for any trouble you can possibly cause.”

“Oh, I really hope so,” Captain Marvel shrugged in a rather helpless manner, before saying, “Okay, so the thing is, because of all the personal family stuff, I kind had to move, to another city, I mean. To be honest, I didn’t want to leave Fawcett City, not at all! But yeah, I didn’t get much of a say in that whole thing.”

“But you still responded to the fire in Fawcett City, right?”

“Yeah, I set up an alarm system on a personal phone; if there is any big bad in Fawcett, I will definitely be there. I move fast anyway.”  
“So that works out, right?” Cyborg was a little confused why the Captain thought this was serious, or maybe the cake was really that good as to turn off all the alarm bells in his system—he took another big bite.

“The only thing is, I moved to Gotham.”

Oh.

Cyborg froze and stared at Earth’s Mightiest Mortal. 

“Does Batman know?” Cyborg asked with a new found urgency, “Damn it, of course he knows; Bats knows everything.”

“But you didn’t know, and you can tap every single camera on the face of the planet; how would he know before you do?” Captain Marvel pointed out, “In any case, I have only been in Gotham for a few days, haven’t appeared there as Captain Marvel yet, so I really don’t think Batman knows.”

“And can you promise that Captain Marvel will never make an appearance in Gotham?”

“What? But, but,” Captain Marvel wrinkled his nose in his typical boyish way and said, “I don’t know, what if people need my help? Gotham has lots of crime, even with Batman and Nightwing and whoever else. And it’s not just me there. What if my family needs help? I know Batman doesn’t like other superheroes in his city, but helping people is more important than keeping Batman happy, right?”

Cyborg gave him a long, serious look and then had to concede, “Yeah, of course you are right. If your help is needed of course you should do something. But this is still going to be tense.”

Captain Marvel hesitated for a few moments, before asking, “Do you think I should maybe tell Batman? About me moving to Gotham? I mean, if he knows I am there, maybe he won’t be upset if he sees me in his city?”

Cyborg shook his head, “If he knows that you are in his city, he simply wouldn’t rest until he knows your civilian identity, weaknesses, all your family members, address, phone number, and everything else there is to know about you. In fact, if he wasn’t so occupied and exhausted right now, he would be working on your case. He can’t stand not knowing and not being prepared. He doesn’t mean anything by it, but he is paranoid like that; if you have worked with him long enough you would know.”

“I really do hope I can work with him, somehow,” Captain Marvel said wistfully, “I mean, I live in Gotham now, and I want to see the city get better too. We should work together. I still think I should approach him first, before he found out anyhow that I am in his city.”

“Don’t, Captain. Batman is not an easy person to approach to begin with, but especially now of all times, you do not want to approach him, certainly not about working with him in his own city, and you know what? Not really about anything else either.”

“Why? What happened to Batman?” Captain Marvel looked genuinely caring, “You said he was occupied and exhausted before too. Is he okay?”

Cyborg hesitated for a long time. After what seemed like forever he sighed and murmured, “Since there is a good chance you two will somehow step on each other’s toes, I do want you to try your best to leave him alone and cut him some slack. Look, Captain, Batman recently lost his partner in the line of fire. He is pretty inconsolable and unapproachable right now, with very good reason…”

“Partner?” Blue eyes widened, “You mean Robin?!”

“Yes,” Cyborg nodded with a grimace. 

“But, but I thought Robin is really young! Even younger than, like, Stargirl over at the government league.”

“He was so very young, too young,” Cyborg shook his head, expression a mix of grief and anger, “To be honest, kids have no business doing this whole superhero thing. Even I was a bit too young when I started, and if the situation wasn’t so desperate, perhaps I shouldn’t have gotten involved… I am not saying this because I am, or was, afraid, but my inexperience could have burdened, even endangered the others. But the point is, Captain, try leaving the Bat alone, alright? And let him manage Gotham as he sees fit. He really needs the space right now.”

Captain Marvel shuddered, even though he should be invulnerable to both fear and cold. The red-clad hero nodded solemnly and said, “Yes, I will, Cyborg; unless there is a real life-and-death thing, I wouldn’t appear in Gotham, I promise.”


	7. An Untried Relationship

By the time Billy returned to his own bedroom, his phone told him it was nearly three am. He crawled onto his bed and ducked under the cover. Sleep was not forthcoming, as the boy was haunted by thoughts of the disappearing Mr. Wayne and Alfred, thoughts of his new brothers, Dick as well as the non-present ones, and especially by thoughts of Gotham’s shadowy guardian Batman and one dead Robin. It was here in Gotham city that a little boy, perhaps one just like Billy himself, died in the line of duty. No doubt this little boy, though without magical powers, was well trained and a good fighter, and no doubt Batman tried his best to protect the boy, and still he died. Such was the possible future of any hero, even Earth’s Mightiest Mortal could die—he was mortal after all.

After hours of tossing and turning with only bursts of actually sleeping in between, Billy decided to get up, even though it was not even six. He quickly brushed his teeth and dressed, before sneaking out of his room. Thankfully, Titus was not here to tease him this time. Billy went to Alfred’s room first, pushing the door open a crack ever so silently. This time he caught sight of the old butler sleeping peacefully. Billy let loose the breath he didn’t know he was holding and sneaked away quietly. At least Alfred was back and sleeping, that means Mr. Wayne was just fine as well. Though, normally when Billy was up at around seven, Alfred would already be reading newspaper with his tea in the sitting room, a full breakfast table already set out in the kitchen and the day’s schedule all prepared in his head. No way would Alfred be sleeping so deeply at this hour on a normal day. The two of them must have had a long night indeed! Who knew it was so much work being a rich businessman?

Billy padded into the kitchen. He poured himself half a glass of orange juice, downed the whole thing in one gulp, and then poked his head inside the fridge again. There were some cold sandwiches left over from yesterday, and an abundant selection of eggs, dairy, cured meat, and fresh fruit and vegetable, but certainly there was nothing one would really like to eat for breakfast already prepared. Billy eyed everything, and his blue eyes suddenly lit up with a brilliant idea. Why, he should definitely cook breakfast for Alfred and Mr. Wayne! After a tiring night, wouldn’t it be nice for them to wake up to hot and delicious breakfast?

Only a couple minutes later Billy was happily whisking eggs, light cream and butter together, humming as he worked. Too bad there was no buttermilk, did that mean Alfred and Mr. Wayne didn’t eat pancakes often? Ah well. And then shake some baking powder and baking soda into the flour, with a dash of salt, pour in the liquids to make the batter, and onto the hot frying pan. Finally the best ingredient to add some magic—this will be great!

“What do you think you are doing, young man?”

Alfred’s voice made Billy jump and he nearly fell off the stack of books he was standing on in order to reach the stove properly. Seeing his pancakes were all done, Billy turned off the stove and walked up to Alfred with a red face. “Um, I, I was trying to make breakfast.”

“You plan to eat all that?” Alfred said with a raised eyebrow, eyeing the mountain of steaming pancakes.

“Oh not all of that, I thought I should make breakfast for you and Mr. Wayne, sir,” Billy said, “I looked in your room and you were sleeping, so I thought you must be really tired, that’s why you weren’t up early like every other day, and I thought you and Mr. Wayne would both enjoy hot breakfast when you get up.”

“And you are certainly up much earlier than usual, Master William,” Alfred said with a gentle smile, “And thank you, my dear boy, that is very kind of you. You are certainly miles ahead your father and your brothers already, for the kitchen is still standing, and the pancakes do smell good.”

“Will you try some?” Billy beamed at the old butler, already grabbing a plate and piling two pancakes on top.

“Oh but of course, Master William, and do go easy on the maple syrup…” Alfred winced as Billy doused the pancakes with the sugary concoction from hell, and his eyebrows rose even higher upon receiving the plate, “Oh dear, is that… bacon in these pancakes?”

Billy blushed a little, and he mumbled, “Okay, I know it is really weird, and normal people don’t make pancakes like this. It’s just… There was this once when Scott and I got some eggs and bacon, but we didn’t really have anything else to make normal eggs and bacon dish, but we had a bit of flour and buttermilk, so we took some salt and sugar packets form a fast food place and found some baking soda, and made these bacon pancakes. I thought they were really, really tasty! In fact, I always dreamed of having bacon pancakes again, but never did manage to get bacon since that one time. Yeah, this is really weird, and I guess it was tasty only because I was really hungry that time…”

“Now, now, Master William,” Alfred interrupted the child’s rambling with a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I think bacon in pancakes is quite an interesting new idea, and I am sure it is indeed very tasty. Why don’t you grab a plate too, and let’s go sit and enjoy our breakfast?”

These bacon pancakes were indeed delicious. Billy didn’t get all the ratios exactly right, so the pancakes weren’t as fluffy as they could be, but the taste was still wonderful. Billy wolfed down three syrup-drenched pancakes with gusto, and even Alfred ate two pancakes and found them quite amazing, though he was also secretly planning to wean the boy off such bad foods. After they finished eating, Billy asked, “Alfred, do you think Mr. Wayne would like pancakes in bed?”

Alfred gave the boy a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I see it on TV all the time,” Billy said with a grin, “That if you want to show you really care about someone, you should make them breakfast in bed! I mean, I would totally like to eat breakfast in bed; that would be so great! Do you think Mr. Wayne would enjoy eating in bed? And would he like those pancakes?”

Alfred smiled. “He would be absolutely thrilled.”

A few minutes later they headed towards the master bedroom, Billy holding a large tray that contained a high stack of syrup-doused bacon pancakes, a large cup of steaming coffee, and utensils. Alfred said Mr. Wayne probably would like coffee in the morning, so Billy insisted on learning how to prepare a cup of coffee, with the coffee maker at least. 

As soon as Alfred pushed open the door to the master bedroom Bruce Wayne sat up in bed, alert at the least sound like some hunter of the night. “Alfred? What is this?” The billionaire gave his butler a hard look, quickly pulling down the sleeves of his pajama as if trying to hide something. Still holding the breakfast tray, Billy stared back at the tired looking billionaire with confusion. He could swear he saw bandages on the man’s forearm.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said with a small cough, “Master William made fresh pancakes for all of us, and thought you would perhaps enjoy breakfast in bed.” With that the old butler took the tray from Billy and carefully set it up in front of Wayne on a bed-top table. 

The billionaire stared at the tray in front of him with a quizzical look as if he had never seen pancakes before. Though to be fair, this kind of cheap, unhealthy street fare type of food was indeed a rarity for Bruce Wayne. He poked the pancake with his fork, before asking with a raised eyebrow, “Is that… bacon bits in the pancake?”

“Indeed, Master Bruce,” Alfred answered with a perfect straight face, “This is Master William’s special recipe; he made it all by himself.”

“You made this?” Bruce Wayne gave his son a surprised look, “You can cook without burning the kitchen down?”

Billy laughed and made a face at the man who was his father. “I can’t cook as good as Alfred, but no one should burn the kitchen down without meaning to! I also know how to make omelets and sandwiches, and I think they don’t taste so bad.”

Bruce put a forkful of pancakes in his mouth and chewed. Seeing Billy’s expectant look he gave the boy one of his very rare small smiles and said, “It’s good. You are already miles ahead of me, that’s for sure, and I really need to try your omelets and sandwiches one day. What made you get up early to cook breakfast though?”

“I thought since you and Alfred had such a tiring night I should definitely make food for you guys for a change!” The boy exclaimed enthusiastically. 

The smile on Bruce Wayne’s face disappeared instantaneously. He regarded the small boy with narrowed eyes, and his voice sounded positively dangerous as he asked in a low hiss, “And what do you mean by that?”

Billy backed up a step almost instinctively. 

“Master Bruce!” Alfred gave his employer an unhappy look that almost seemed a warning, but the old butler was promptly ignored.

“Talk, boy,” The billionaire barked at his son, “What do you mean we had a tiring night? What did you see?” 

“I, last night I woke up late, and I was hungry, so I was just going to the kitchen to get some food,” Billy explained nervously, “Titus was following me around the house. And then when we walked past your bedroom Titus barked really loud. I thought it was really weird that you didn’t wake up even with Titus barking right outside your door, so I came in to take a look and saw you weren’t there. That’s how I know you were off working last night...” 

Billy frowned and stood straighter, his voice finally finding a proper rhythm again, respectful but very much holding his ground, “I didn’t mean to come into your room without your permission, but I was worried, Mr. Wayne. I thought you might be sick or drunk or something. I am sorry, and I promise I won’t do it again, sir. I won’t wander around at night anymore, and I won’t come into your room without…”

Bruce put a hand on Billy’s shoulder and stopped the boy. “My apologies, Billy,” Bruce’s voice was almost uncharacteristically gentle, and even regretful, “I did not mean to accuse you of anything. I was just… I guess I am too tired to think properly, and I am sorry. You are right, I did have a long night. This is your home, you should feel at home, and if you need me, you can definitely come find me in my room, in the study, wherever. Anyway, thank you for those great pancakes. They are really tasty.”

Billy gave his father a slow but bright grin. “I am glad you like them!” The boy chirped.

“But let’s try to eat more healthily in the future, how is that?” Bruce added, “That means no pancakes except for very special occasions, and always be sparing with bacon and maple syrup.”

“Aww,” Billy made a face and laughed.

Bruce Wayne took a long drought of coffee, when he put the cup down he was looking at his child with a serious expression again. “And I think I should be honest with you, Billy, about how I spend my nights,” He took a pause long enough that Alfred was beginning to look both surprised and hopeful, but he only said, “I am working on finding your mother’s research, just as I promised you, and Alfred is helping me; that’s why we were away last night.”

Billy blinked and asked curiously, “So um, did you guys find anything?”

“I am getting close,” Bruce said, “Perhaps only a few more nights’ work. I am seeing to this personally, Billy, and I promise you, your mother’s work will be published for the whole world to see and to admire, trust me.”

Billy nodded with a smile, “Of course I trust you, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce Wayne looked back at his son silently. Ai, for all the bright smiles and talks of trust and even the breakfast in bed, the boy still called him Mr. Wayne. Which was just as well; Bruce Wayne did not think he was ready to be called father again, not yet.


	8. An Unhappy Encounter

At twenty minutes past eleven Barbara Gordon entered the Batcave from the upper levels of the Wayne Manor. She had never done such a thing in her first few years working with the caped crusader, but it was suddenly becoming a regular occurrence. It was almost as if she was really becoming part of a dysfunctional family, which would be a big step forward for all of them, dysfunctional notwithstanding. 

“The kid is asleep? Everything is fine?” Bruce asked from behind his wall of screens. He was already in full costume, but the cowl had not yet covered his face, and his still-visible blue eyes showed true concern and interest that were quite unlike his perfectly flat voice.  
Barbara answered, “I put the kid to bed and turned the lights out, though I am not too sure about him being asleep. He was rather excited about the book we were reading, so you never know, might still be reading.” Here the young woman gave her mentor a long, sideway look, before saying, “But I don’t think reading Madeleine L’Engle under the bedcover with a flashlight is really anything to worry about. He is a whole new variety for you, isn’t he?”

“He is just a regular kid, not like the rest of you guys.”

“Indeed, not like the rest of us with our issues. And damages,” Barbara murmured softly. She wasn’t trying to be snarky, and she sounded sad about it all.

Bruce ignored that comment promptly and asked, “So how is he catching up in school? Can he handle it, and can you handle him?”

“Don’t worry about it, Billy is brilliant,” Barbara’s voice brightened, “You do know he has always aced math, right? Even those concepts considered advanced for his grade level, I teach him once and he understands, and he actually finds practice problems fun. His grades suffer in English and social studies simply because he didn’t have the time and resources to go through even the required reading materials, never mind being well-read outside of it. But he is genuinely interested in every thing, and motivated, so in a few months you will have your straight-A child. He really is smart, Bruce, and so very sweet. By the way, you don’t mind me giving him some gymnastics and defense lessons, do you?”

“I saw you two in the gym the other day. Why is he interested in self-defense?”

Barbara laughed, “Now Bruce, relax. He is a little boy, of course he is going to be interested in all those equipment in the gym and would want to try some of the stuff out. In any case, he is more impressed by Dick’s and my aerial moves. He is actually already a decent tumbler, and with some training and putting on muscles of course, he has the potential to become a good gymnast. A sport will be good for him. Oh, and he even managed to make Dick promise to teach him some high bar tricks once he mastered the more basic gymnastics stuff.”

“You like the kid.”

“Of course, he is a great kid, and he has a way worming into your heart,” Barbara replied fondly.

Bruce was silent for a long time, before suddenly saying, “Look, Barbara, I am grateful for all this.” A Pause, and then he added, “I know you have a lot on your plate right now, and the issue with your father, I know I haven’t… If there is anything I can do for you, tell me.” 

“Dad and I worked it out—after a fashion. Don’t worry about me,” Barbara made an effort to smile for him. She knew Bruce was trying very hard, but there was little he could do, and in all honesty he had barely begun to sort through his own woes, though Bruce could use a little push with his problems. So she began hesitantly, “Bruce, I know you are trying to make this work, and this is not easy for you, but have you thought about… Maybe you can spend a little more time with Billy? You can tutor him in English and teach him self-defense, probably better than us. I mean Dick and I do adore him, don’t get me wrong, it’s just… We don’t want to take your place in his world.”

“I am terrible for a job like this,” Bruce said in a stony voice that ended all discussion. There was a long pause, before Bruce added in a very low voice, “And I can’t, not yet.”

Just when the silence was becoming oppressive, Barbara spoke again. “You know, Billy tried to invite me to the manor for Thanksgiving dinner when he heard it’s just dad and I for the holidays.” She laughed mirthlessly, before saying, “He also asked me if I know whether Damian will be home for Thanksgiving, and he wanted to know what might be a good Christmas present for his brother.”

Bruce did not respond, only pulled the cowl over his head with extra vehemence. It felt as if even the air around him chilled. 

“Bruce, you can keep all of this hidden,” Barbara said, gesturing to the cave around her, “But there are things you can’t keep from a little boy. How long would you have him expecting a brother to come home and to grow up with him?”

Bruce slammed a hand down at his computer controls. “Here is your patrol route for tonight, Batgirl,” He growled, “I am off to Fawcett City. Keep the comm link open and keep me in the loop.”

The flight from Gotham to Fawcett in the Batwing did not take nearly long enough. Even when Batman slinked into one Adam Ebnezer Batson’s house his mind did not clear, and a deep seated misery was gnawing his bones, the pain still palpable. But it was an easy job; he could afford to be distracted. Batman was utterly silent as he made his way into the master bedroom, dragged the man from his bed, and set him on the roof of his own house.

“What… what?! By God’s sake, what… what the fuck!” The rotund man was utterly disoriented as he slowly woke, while Batman simple stood there, a cutout of shadows under the wane moonlight. 

“You’re… you’re Batman!” Adam Batson finally seemed to wake up proper and recognize the famous vigilante. He exclaimed, “What the hell is going on?! Aren’t you supposed to be in Gotham?! What… what the hell! I didn’t do nothing; I am an upstanding citizen! I know you lot can never be trusted.”

“Shut up,” Batman’s low growl made the Batson shut up instantaneously. Batman let the silent pause sit for long enough to foster the proper mood of threat, before continuing, “I will talk, and you will listen. Don’t interrupt me, don’t give me explanations or arguments; I don’t need those. Your name is Adam Ebenezer Batson, and you are the cousin of the famous University of Michigan Egyptologist C. C. Batson. You never cared for your cousin, who was a good and upstanding intellectual, something way beyond your meager understanding. When he and his wife passed away in an accident three years ago, leaving a young boy and you the only living relatives, you jumped on it and robbed them blind. It is not quite enough you managed to steal their home, their savings, and their pension funds, you even stole Marilyn Batson’s unpublished research, which by the way, legally belongs to the University of Michigan and Marilyn’s former students and research assistants. You sold it to the highest bidder, the oil and commodity trading mogul Vitol to be exact. I want that research. You now have ten minutes to tell me how to retrieve it, every last number and file.”

Adam Batson stared up at the vigilante, blinking rapidly. It took him a good half minute, but eventually he exclaimed angrily, “What the hell is this? I don’t even… Look, if you know everything, you know I don’t have that damned research anymore!! I sold it, alright? Why don’t you just walk over to Vitol and ask them? Just because you can’t handle them doesn’t mean you should terrorize me; I don’t have that shit anymore.”

“You give both Vitol and me too little credit,” Batman replied in the same low, flat gravelly voice, “Of course I already went to Vitol. The owners and lead analysts have the forecasting model in their heads; the original research files you handed over to them were destroyed long ago. I don’t need a single equation, however effective it may be; I need a publishable research. That’s what you will give me.”

“I don’t have the stuff anymore, I don’t! What the hell! When I sold it I sold it alright?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You gave Vitol boxes of papers, but do you really expect me to believe in this day and age academics don’t keep a fully digitized copy of their research files? If you insist, we can go to another much higher roof to continue this conversation.”

Adam Batson swallowed, his fat face now covered with sweat. Still, he was brave enough to make one last attempt. “You… you just want it so you can make money from it, like the rest of them. Don’t you work for some rich industrialist? What does the Justice League think of you running around threatening upstanding citizens for some…”

Batman’s fist closed around the collar of Adam Batson’s pajama shirt. “Be careful what comes out of your mouth. I suggest the next thing you say should be where to find Marilyn Batson’s research.”

“Alright, alright! Let… let go, I, I will give you the stuff you want.” Tears actually came out of the man’s eyes as he whimpered.

A small part of Batman was sorely tempted to actually toss this fat, worthless bag of human flesh over the edge of the roof, but he only kept his hold on that fistful of pajama and snarled, “Talk.”

Just then Batman heard the telltale hints of the still night air being stirred by something. His head snapped up and he saw a statuesque figure approaching the roof, or more like, floating down to the roof—red suit, gold-rimmed white cape billowing, powerful and divine, that would be Fawcett City’s guardian, Captain Marvel. Batman’s burrow furrowed with annoyance under the cowl; he did not wish to deal with another Leaguer on a personal quest like this. 

“Batman? Is that you, sir?” Captain Marvel landed on the roof and offered an uncertain greeting, “Can you please let the man go? He really isn’t so dangerous, and he won’t do much even if you are not holding him down, I don’t think.”

And then Adam Batson screamed like a stuck pig, “Help, Captain Marvel, help me! I wasn’t doing anything! This lunatic just came into my house and dragged me out of bed! I’ve done nothing, so by God, help me!!”

Batman ignored all that screaming, only glared at Captain Marvel, “You don’t think? You are going to challenge my work, based on ‘you-don’t-think’?”

Captain Marvel’s blue eyes narrowed a little and he said, “With all due respect, Batman, you are standing on the roof of a civilian’s house, holding a defenseless man still in his pajamas. Please let go, sir.”

The way Captain Marvel’s rich and regal voice pronounced the word “sir” seemed like a certain mockery. Batman was suddenly angry. This time he did let go, promptly tossing Adam Batson off the roof. The red figure in front of him blurred, and then Captain Marvel was standing right in front of him again, inches away from his cowl and holding his right arm in an iron grip. 

“What is this about?!” Captain Marvel seemed angered as well, “Who are you? Are you really Batman?”

Batson did not scream, Batman noticed impassionedly, which means Captain Marvel caught him before he hit the lawn. And then Captain Marvel managed to get close enough to grab Batman’s arm all but instantaneously to human perception. That reaction time and speed were basically on par with Superman and Flash. Captain Marvel’s hold was superhumanly strong too, one that he couldn’t possibly break out of. There was no Kryptonite, but maybe other weaknesses. 

Batman’s left hand pulled out a small baton from his utility belt and jammed one end right into Captain Marvel’s neck. Electric sparks crackled like firework—two amperes of electricity at 5,000 volts, that would be enough to actually kill a normal person, but Captain Marvel’s fist connected with his jaw instead. Batman could tell it was a very pulled back punch for someone who can match Superman fist for fist, but it was hard enough to leave a bruise forming. When Batman shook his head clear of the pain Captain Marvel was some twenty feet away, hovering in midair. 

“You tried to use electricity against me?” Captain Marvel stared at him with disbelief, “Seriously?”

Batman could have sworn he heard a note of nervousness and fear in Captain Marvel’s voice. He was all but convinced he had found the Captain’s weakness, and was already planning on how to upgrade his gadget to release more electric power, when he saw bolts of lightning swimming around Captain Marvel’s hand like a thousand blue-white snakes. 

You have got to be kidding me. 

Before he could blink the ball of writhing charges hit him square in the chest. His suit was insulated head to toe of course, but the lightning hit like a super-powered punch and threw him straight off the roof, and it burned, all the way through the Kevlar. He twisted and landed on his feet, falling into a crouching position like a cat. Captain Marvel floated down as well, looking even more nervous than before.

“Sorry about that, Batman, I wasn’t really thinking; that stun gun was a little annoying,” The red-clad hero mumbled, “Can we just talk about this? What are you doing in Fawcett City, and why are you dragging Adam Batson out of his bed? To tell you the truth, I know him; or I should say I know of him. I did live in this city and I know of people and things. This Mr. Batson is a mean-spirited scrooge, but he hasn’t committed any major crime and he isn’t a villain. It’s… it’s not a nice thing to scare him in the middle of the night, oaky? I mean, we are heroes; that’s not what we do right? Tell me what’s going on, please… sir.”

Batman considered his options and had to admit to himself he was beat, for this night at least. With Damian’s death hanging over him like a perpetual storm cloud he had grown lax and did not complete the proper research on his newly-recruited teammate. He must find out Captain Marvel’s identity and weaknesses soon.

But in the meantime Batman answered briskly, “Adam Batson stole an unpublished research of enormous import; I need him to hand it over.”

After hearing the whole story Captain Marvel looked a little dazed. “Wow, he did that,” The Captain murmured, “And I thought he was just a mean person. I didn’t know he had done something so dangerous.”

“Even without this specific theft, a man who robs his dead relatives’ lifesaving and puts a small child on the street is not simply mean-spirited; he is murderously negligent and malicious,” Batman snarled with obvious disgust, “And clearly, Captain, you know less of the people in your city than you would imagine. So next time think before you jump and interrupt my work.”

“Huh, I am sorry, I guess,” Captain Marvel looked distinctively uncomfortable, “Anyway, I, I wouldn’t stand in your way anymore, sir. I will leave you to it. Just…” After a moment of hesitation Captain Marvel still added, “Just don’t hurt Mr. Batson, alright? I mean, he is a bad person, but he is defenseless; please don’t hurt him.”

Just as Captain Marvel turned to leave Batman called out again, “A moment, Captain. You said you did live in Fawcett City. Did that change? Where do you live now?”

When Captain Marvel did not answer immediately Batman’s frown deepened. “Fine then, keep your secrets,” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, “But Captain? I will find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all those comments everyone! I really enjoyed reading each and every one of them. I am glad I moved this story over here, and I look forward to fleshing out this entire series. Yes I have many more stories coming set in this world lol.


	9. An Unfolding Truth

Billy Batson woke up uncharacteristically late the next morning. He had a good excuse, of course: dealing with Batman was hard work, any night of the week! The encounter itself was nerve-wracking enough, but he felt obliged to hang around Fawcett City far longer than intended so he could check on his uncle after Batman departed. Billy did not love that slimy man who was his uncle by blood, but Uncle Ebenezer was no supervillain and did not deserve Batman of all heroes breathing down his neck, right? It was really bad luck of the worst sort. He had flown in and out of Gotham as Captain Marvel many times now and never once ran into the infamous Dark Knight, yet somehow he had encountered Batman in Fawcett City, in his own uncle’s house nonetheless? Now that was a fated meeting if there ever were one.

After washing and brushing his teeth, Billy wandered into the kitchen. To his utter surprise, he found Bruce Wayne sitting there with a tablet computer in hand and a mug of coffee. “Ah, Billy, you are up,” The billionaire said, “I have been waiting for you. Come join me for breakfast; I have some good news for you.”

Billy eyed the man who was his father with uncertainty. What was this about? Bruce was trying to sound casual and warm, but Billy could still tell something quite serious was up. They sat together and ate Alfred’s delicious muffin quietly. After finishing off his breakfast and filling up his second cup of coffee, Bruce began. “The good news is, Billy,” He said, “I found your mom’s research. I already put a couple calls to her old colleagues and students at the University of Michigan, and they are thrilled the research is found. They will be working to complete it and edit it for publication.”

“Oh!” Billy’s eyes widened, though no one could guess the true origin of his shock, “Wow!”

“Would you like to take a look at some of the things your mom worked on?” Bruce asked kindly, pushing his tablet computer towards the boy.

Billy watched as Bruce flipped through various tables, charts, and graphs on the tablet. Those squiggly lines and masses of numbers looked daunting but nonetheless impressive to him. Eventually, the boy said in a dazed voice, “Wow, there really was a lot of stuff. I wish I can understand all this one day.”

“Do you want to be a political scientist one day like your mother, Master William?” Alfred asked.

Billy shrugged helplessly. “Um, what do political scientists do, actually?”

Alfred did not quail at the task of explaining such a difficult concept to a ten-year-old, he only said in his usual voice, “Political scientists study the things countries and governments do and figure out how best to direct governments to make citizens happier. For example, they figure out how to stop wars, how to make a more effective police force to catch all the criminals, or how to provide people who are not very well-off with the means to go to university.”

“That’s like what real heroes do! I didn’t know mom was so cool! She always said she was just a teacher,” The child exclaimed with shining eyes. 

“So is that something you might want to do in the future?”

Billy replied with a grin, “Well, but my dad was really cool too, and I want to be just like him, going on a grand adventure and digging up awesome things from ages past, just like Indiana Jones! Dad even started teaching me to read Hieroglyphics, you know.”

This time Bruce laughed out loud. Despite the touch of envy, he was happy to see his son ramble on so excitedly. He put a hand on Billy’s shoulder and said, “Well Billy, this is rather cliché but I will say it nonetheless, you can be whatever you want to be, and I will always help you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne!” Billy beamed at his father and almost looked as if he wanted to hug the man, when he suddenly stopped with a curious expression on his face, “Er, Mr. Wayne, what happened to your face?”

Bruce Wayne rubbed his jaw, “The bruise? Ah, it was nothing; I was a little careless and walked into a cabinet.” 

Walking into the cabinet led to a bruise on the jaw? Right, that looked like the result of a mean right hook if he ever saw one. But Billy decided not to pursue the subject. Instead he asked, “So where did you find the research, Mr. Wayne?”

“You uncle stole her research and sold it to a company that wanted to use it to predict global commodity prices. But good thing he was too greedy and kept an extra copy for himself.”

“And Uncle Ebenezer just admitted to it? He just gave you the research back?” Billy was eyeing his father again with a curious look. 

“Of course not,” Bruce answered calmly with a perfectly straight face, “I had to drag him out of bed at night and threaten to throw him off his own roof in order for him to hand over what he stole.”

Bruce expected the child to laugh, as most are wont do when hearing such a tale of grand adventure and righteous violence, but Billy only stared at him with an expression of unabated shock and even terror.

“I was joking, Billy,” Bruce said lightly.

“Were you?!” Billy blurted out.

Bruce’s smile vanished in a flash. “What do you mean by that?” 

Only that Batman actually tried to throw Uncle Ebenezer off the roof and it was not a nice thing to do! Billy took a deep breath and a jumble of words came out of his mouth in a rush, “But Batman always threatens to throw people off roofs if he wants information. And Batman works for you, doesn’t he? Did you ask Batman go after Uncle Ebenezer? Is that what you meant? Is that why you give money to Batman, so he would do things like this for you?”

“That’s enough.” Bruce’s coffee cup came down to rest on the table with more force than necessary, “Batman does not work for me, Billy, Batman does not work for anyone. He serves his own justice, which I might add is a justice most people can give a nod to. And finding your mother’s research is a personal issue I keep close at heart. I needed help from others, yes, but I did not send some goon out at night to get your mother’s research while terrorizing good and upstanding citizens, which your uncle is not in any case.”

Billy bit his bottom lip and did not speak, but inside he was screaming with frustration. That had to be a lie, it had to be, because I know without a shadow of a doubt that Batman was there in my uncle’s house and obtained my mother’s research last night! Billy peered at Bruce Wayne’s face once more, the face of this man who was supposed to be his father, and it really seemed frank if impatient. There was no lie, only a bruised jawline. What was going on? Billy was becoming more and more confused. So Bruce Wayne really didn’t know about Batman’s actions? Or did Captain Marvel meet a fake Batman last night? But how did Bruce Wayne get the research from Uncle Ebenezer, if Batman, real or fake, got to it last night? They must be working together! Unless…

Suddenly everything clicked in Billy’s mind. 

Batman did not work for Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Wayne did not send anyone out into the night; Batman was doing something close to his own heart, and Bruce Wayne went out into the night himself, even got punched in the face by Captain Marvel. Bruce Wayne was the Batman.

It just made so much sense in the child’s mind. The disappearing acts at night, the bandages on Bruce Wayne’s arm, and the bruise on his jaw, oh and Batman’s strange interest in some small time miser a city that’s not Gotham. It had to be this. 

Holy moly, my father is Batman.

“You, are you…” Billy said, “Who…”

Billy stopped rather abruptly. He was going to ask “are you Batman” and “who is Robin” when the conversation with Cyborg suddenly sprang up in his mind, and he froze like a deer in headlights. Robin was dead. The young and sprightly partner of the Dark Knight died in the line of fire, and Batman was inconsolable. Batman was Billy’s father, and Robin? Billy did have this brother who attended some nameless school in Europe, who never called home, who never sent photos or messages, who didn’t even bother sending him an email the way Tim did. Billy secretly worried perhaps his half-brother didn’t like him, didn’t want a random stranger sharing the Wayne manor and name, but now he realized with terror perhaps the truth was much worse than what he had originally imagined.

“Billy? What’s wrong? Tell me what you are thinking about.” Bruce Wayne asked gently. 

Billy stared at his father, at a total loss for words. After what seemed like forever he mumbled, “It’s… it’s nothing. It’s nice you got mom’s research back, Mr. Wayne. Thank you very much. And I am sorry I said mean things to you… Um, I still have a lot of homework to do. May I be excused now, sir?”

Billy did not wait too long. He spent only a couple hours doing homework, or trying to do homework; when Bruce and Alfred decided to get on with their day, he promptly sneaked out of the house. He didn’t go as Captain Marvel, instead he just ran off leaving a clear trail for every camera on the grounds to see. He didn’t really think it through, but his instincts had told him this was a mystery he needed to solve as Billy Batson. Using his wits and puppy-eyed sweetness, he managed to ask and beg his way to Gotham’s Hollows, which was said to be a cemetery for the rich, privileged, and most beloved. A few acres in one corner of the Hollows belonged solely to the Wayne family.

In the full light of the autumn sun the aged graveyard looked beautiful and peaceful, the grass green and finely manicured and the headstones old but elegant. Billy walked through the cemetery, looking left and right. Those Waynes buried here, they were all his family, his grandparents and great-grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins however many time removed. If he weren’t so troubled he might have appreciated the fact a little more. Billy had no idea what he was looking for or what he expected to find. Surely there wouldn’t be a headstone that just says “Robin, partner of Batman”, nor would there be one for Damian Wayne, because everyone insisted Damian was simply studying and traveling in Europe. But still he walked and looked, searching; maybe a fresh tomb, a new stone tablet bearing a fake looking name, a familiar arrangement of flowers—any clue would do. 

What Billy did not expect was a familiar tall figure wrapped in trench coat entering his line of vision, crossing the cemetery, and then leaving through a side gate. That was Dick Grayson, wasn’t it? It shouldn’t be; Dick’s parents were buried at the Gotham Park Cemetery half a city away, Dick had told him this. But that was Dick, as sure as the daylight around him, tall and powerful but hunched over with sadness. Billy blinked a few times owlishly before he took off running. His heart thumped in his chest as he raced towards the place Dick left behind. 

Indeed there was a new grave, marked by a fresh, grand tombstone. The white marble was completely empty, not a word could be found, only a gleaming obelisk so new and shiny it hurt the eyes to see. There were no flowers at the grave either, but there was a copy of a video game. Billy picked up the game box with trembling hands and stared at the colorful cover image. Swordhunter, huh.

“What kind of things does Damian like?” He had once asked Barbara in that rambling way of his, “Is he more bookish or more athletic? I really want to get him an awesome Christmas present, but he must have like everything he wants! I hope he will actually like the Christmas present I pick. Does he like games, by the way?”

Barbara laughed, mirthlessly and nervously, before replying, “Yeah, Damian likes video games; if you get him some new game I am sure he will enjoy it.”

“Oh, well, that shouldn’t be too hard, right? What kind of games does he really like?”

“To be honest I can’t be sure, it’s so hard keeping up with you kids and your games,” Barbara still seemed nervous as she forced a smile, “But there is this series he liked, Sword… something? Ah, Swordhunter. Dick mentioned it once.”

Billy hugged the game close to his chest and started running. He didn’t bother looking for buses or taxis, didn’t bother asking friendly strangers for a ride, he just ran and ran. It was more than four miles from the Wayne cemetery in the Hollows to the manor, but he ran it all the way. Once back at the manor, even though he was panting and thirsty, his mouth parched, he did not bother going to the kitchen. He went straight to the games room and popped Swordhunter into the game console. 

Billy never played a video game before, and in all honesty, he didn’t even like playing video games. Swordhunter felt more like a chore than an enjoyment. But he hacked away at the game with something that almost felt like vengeance, and he was afraid to even blink lest he missed anything. That was how Bruce and Alfred found him, holed away in the games room that he never bothered with before and playing like a man on a mission. 

“What do you think you are doing, young man?” Bruce said as he marched into the games room, “Why did you run off? Where have you been? I do not tolerate that kind of behavior under my roof.”

Billy started. His first reaction was that he should turn off the TV but Bruce Wayne stood between him and the remote control. He thought about quitting the game but when an enemy charged at him onscreen he responded with a knee jerk reaction. It was even harder to look at his father now so he kept his eyes fixed on the giant screen, where his character was hacking a bloody path through a sea of ninjas.

“I…I went out to get this game,” Eventually he mumbled, hands never leaving the controller, “People were talking about it at school and everyone played it. They laughed at me when I said I didn’t know anything about it. I just want to keep up with the other kids.” 

Billy Batson was a good boy. He almost never lied unless it was absolutely necessary. Was it necessary now to lie to Bruce Wayne? He had no idea. But lying was certainly much easier than telling the truth. And just what would the truth be anyway? Billy ran away to the Hollows and stole this game from an unmarked grave, a grave that he believed to belong to Robin, the Dark Knight’s squire, who was also his half-brother that he had never met? Oh and, he figured it out all by himself that his father, billionaire industrialist Bruce Wayne, was probably the Batman himself instead of just the moneybag behind Batman? This was madness.

“Billy, look at me when I am talking to you,” Bruce Wayne said in a familiar low growl and stepped in front of the TV screen, “And stop playing for a moment, this…”

Bruce looked as if he was about to turn off the TV himself, but his hand froze mid-air as he stared at the screen. Just then Billy cleared a level, so he put down the controller and let his character do a little celebratory dance to the game-save screen, finally looking at his father. 

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have run off like that, but I wasn’t sure if you guys would take me and I wanted the game,” Billy lied, “Sorry, Mr. Wayne. And um, this game, I mean…"

Bruce began slowly in a very quiet voice, “I think I have seen Damian playing this. He loved the game.” He gave his head a good shake, before continuing in a much sterner manner, “Alright, stop the game at once and clean up the games room. You will go to your room and think about what you did. You will apologize to Alfred, sincerely and eloquently, before you get dinner.”

Billy only nodded meekly and did as he was told as if nothing was wrong. But when he returned to his own bedroom he felt as if he could no longer stand. The day’s running and detecting and riding the emotional roller coaster had finally caught with him. His legs felt like jelly and he thought he could barely breathe. 

So Billy collapsed onto his bed and started crying into the pillows.


	10. An Unforgivable Breach

Captain Marvel appeared smack in the center of Gotham City at exactly two am. He busted a gang weapons deal, stopped two small-time robberies, and helped to rush the victims of a major car crash to the hospital, before flying over to the Hollows, Gotham’s oldest cemetery for the wealthy. That was where Batman found him, standing—or rather floating—in the now dark and frightening land of the dead, beside a new and unmarked obelisk of white marble. Here at the place Batman least wished to be in the whole wide world, he was tense like a bowstring drawn taut, but he forced himself to show nothing but deadly calm.

“What is this, Captain Marvel?” The Dark Knight hissed, “Payback for my venture into your city last night? I had legitimate business, of which I even explained to you in full. You have two minutes to tell me what’s going on.”

The red-clad hero began slowly, “I wanted to see you; there are things I need to ask you.”

“And this cannot be discussed in the Watchtower? You could have contacted me without waltzing through my city,” Batman sounded skeptical and annoyed. 

“I thought this place would be better, sir.”

A pause, during which Batman reflected once again with annoyance on his inability to contain Captain Marvel, before he barked, “Alright, talk. I am waiting.”

“Then I will just ask it,” Captain Marvel said with determination in his voice, “Who do you work for, Batman?”

The Dark Knight of Gotham blinked behind the cowl, before saying with a snort, “Excuse me?”

Captain Marvel continued unflinchingly, “You told me last night you were looking for the lost research of the scientist Marilyn Batson, but you never said why you considered the business important enough for you to make a trip to Fawcett City. I want to know why. You must have gotten that research, so where is it now? Who did you give it to? Who hired you to obtain it to begin with?”

“I do not work for anyone, and my service is not up for bid,” Batman snarled, “Last night’s business was a personal issue for me. I have no obligation to explain any of it to you!”

“The research you described sounds important; how do I know there won’t be some other people abusing it in the future? What did you do with the stuff you got?” Captain Marvel was quite insistent.

“Why do you care at all?” Batman rebutted bluntly. 

Captain Marvel crossed his arms before his chest in a rather childish manner, “Because I do.”

“It is handed over to the right people and will be published, laid open for the whole world to see, in due time. Now get out of my city before I throw you out.”

Captain Marvel stared at Batman for a few more seconds, before drawing a deep breath and saying, “I have one last question.”

“What?”

The red-clad hero gestured towards the unmarked white marble behind him and asked, “Is this where you buried Robin?”  
The only answer Captain Marvel received was a Batarang flying into his face with the ferocity of an eagle diving for its dinner. He caught the Batarang easily and waited; just as he expected, the flying weapon exploded in his hand. The explosion was stronger than he imagined, and he was sent sailing through the air. Batman leaped after him with a speed that seemed almost supernatural for an ordinary human, and the gloved fist smashed into his face with enough force for him to feel. 

“How dare you!” Batman roared with uncharacteristic rage and threw another punch.

Captain Marvel did not bother defending himself. All of his suspicions are now confirmed; there was no room for doubt left. Captain Marvel was almost tempted to raise his hand and rip off Batman’s cowl; he could be absolutely sure that way, but he was just not ready for an actual fight. Batman’s punches stung, but only a little, so he simply allowed the Dark Knight to punch him to the ground. Some half a dozen punches later Batman relented and pulled back, perhaps finally realizing that he was beating down a man who could not be hurt and did not want to fight. 

“What are you doing here, Captain Marvel?” Batman growled from the shadows, “Why? What are you trying to accomplish?”

The red-clad hero clambered up rather slowly and gave Batman a long and despairing look. He seemed as if he was fighting a Herculean battle inside. When he came to a decision he seemed even sadder than before, almost as if near tears.

“I am so sorry,” He muttered, and was gone.

What followed was an utterly unremarkable week. Billy tried to occupy himself with school work and reading, trying his very best to not think about his father’s terrible secret and his dead brother. In these few days he even avoided the Justice League and doing any hero work—he really couldn’t, not now of all times. Thursday night, when Billy emerged from his room to get a late night snack and found the manor empty he could only sigh and shrug. Hopefully, it wasn’t something too serious or League related; Billy still couldn’t quite bring himself to work alongside his father just yet. After the snack Billy went into Bruce’s library, hoping to find a book on ancient Rome—they were learning about it in school—that he could read before going to sleep, but instead he find a hole in the wall.   
Billy stood there and stared. 

A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf against the wall was somehow removed from its usual position, revealing not wallpaper behind, but a veritable hole in the wall, like an elevator shaft, with two poles leading down to some unknown dark depth, like the kind one would see in a fire station, except that of course everything in a fire station would be well lit. Huh, so that was the entrance to Batman’s secret hideout.

Except why would it lie open and revealed like this? 

Something was wrong, and he should certainly check it out. Billy actually hesitated for a moment. He was usually quick and decisive, even as plain old Billy Batson, for living on the streets required a sort of fast and steely resolve. But no one would rush into a confrontation with the Batman, especially not Billy, who also happened to be the Dark Knight’s son. Still he hesitated for a moment only, and then he grabbed the metal pole and slid down into the shadows, silent and bright-eyed like some animal of the night.   
The wondrous machines and gadgets and even oversized souvenirs littered all around the Batcave did not distract Billy for even a second. The first thing the boy saw was the shattered glass, the pile of Robin costume, and two prone bodies lying on the ground, and he sprinted straight for them. One of the forms was Alfred, the other an unknown man wearing a red ski mask over his head and a red Bat symbol on his gray bodysuit. Billy bit down on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out. He crouched down beside Alfred, putting two fingers on Alfred’s neck, the other hand shaking the old butler’s arm. “Alfred, can you hear me? Alfred?”  
He found a steady pulse, but no other reaction.

Seeing that Alfred won’t wake, Billy backed up all the way to the elevator shaft and murmured, “Shazam.”

Bolts of lightning lit the Batcave momentarily, and then Captain Marvel stood straight and scanned his surrounding carefully. There was a half open door to his left, so with one last look around, he ducked into the shadowy cavern behind that door. The inside chamber was filled with machinery, mostly exotic motor vehicles that were still within the realm of imagination, other robotic suit and vessels that simply looked ridiculous. At one end of this cavern space there was another open door that should have been all but invisible if closed. Captain Marvel approached the door, but before he could take a step down the flight of stairs, a beam of white light hit him square in the chest and sent him stumbling back. 

Following that beam of white light a form in black charged at him. Confused and disoriented Captain Marvel could only swipe his arm at the attacking form. Even then he was careful to hit lightly, lest he killed his attacker outright. The force of his blow still sent the attacker crashing into a robotic Batsuit. Once the attacker scrambled up Captain Marvel finally saw that he was covered from head to toe by a strange, shimmering black body suit; a pair of red lenses covered his eyes. This attacker was certainly human, no supernatural strength or speed, though the light weapon seemed powerful enough, and what did the strange suit do? 

“Who are you?” Captain Marvel demanded, “What are you doing in the Batcave? And how on Earth did you get in here?!”

The figure in black only looked at him and commented lightly, “It is you.” And then he charged again. 

He must incapacitate this intruder quickly. But even as Captain Marvel reached out and hold down the attacker’s arm, bolts of lightning filled the cave once more. It was no mere Taser gun or even a particularly powerful electromagnetic pulse, but a full-fledged indoor lightning storm. Captain Marvel was stunned. He never expected his enemy to be capable of generating lightning, never mind with gadgets small enough to be comfortably carried on one’s person! How did this strange man in black suit do this? And then Billy Batson was standing in the middle of the shadowy cave once more. 

“Sha…” 

The boy’s cry was stuffed back into his mouth when a spindly but strong hand clasped over his mouth, the grip so tight it threatened to crush his jaw. “Now, no more of that,” The man in black suit said, quickly clicking a device around the child’s neck.

An inhibitor collar like the one they used at Belle-Reve, Billy realized with wide eyes, and a cold metallic mask attached to the collar covering his mouth. He couldn’t speak now, couldn’t even make a single sound! Now assured the child will stay a harmless child, the intruder in black let go and backed up a few steps.

“How curious,” Said the intruder, “The Earth’s Mightiest Mortal is actually Batman’s brat. And to think the world’s villains and governments only fear Superman. Though what should I do with you, blessed little child?”

Billy gave only one deer-in-headlight blink before he ran. He dashed back into the main cave, looking desperately for something—anything—that might serve as a weapon. He was only a few steps into the main cave when the same spindly yet strong hand picked him up by the back of his collar. “You are remarkably light for a ten-year-old, poor little thing, all skin and bones. See, normally I wouldn’t be able to do this,” The intruder remarked in a casual manner, before throwing the boy into a glass case, like how one would toss a stuffed animal.

Billy’s field of vision became entirely black for a second or two. When he could see again he could still not see clearly; there was blood trickling into his eyes. If that was the state of his head, he didn’t even want to think about what his back must look like, the way it felt at the moment. But there were certainly some advantages to being thrown into a case that held a Robin uniform. Billy drew a deep breath, closed his fingers around a stray Birdarang, and rolled up. The Birdarang flew towards its mark like a bird of prey, but the intruder in black only laughed and leaned sideway to avoid the weapon. 

“Your aim is untrained, little boy, what do…” He never finished his sentence, for the Birdarang swung a curve and flew into his back. At the last moment the intruder dodged, but not before the Birdarang’s razor edge nicked his suit at the shoulder. 

The intruder froze for a second, before releasing a guttural roar, “You insolent brat!”

He seemed to blur and another second later he was standing over Billy. He grabbed a fistful of the boy’s dark hair and dragged the young face close to his own. “How dare you! I had no plan to kill you before, you pathetic little boy, now…”

A staff swung out of nowhere and cut him off, smashing into his head full force. He had to release the child and back up a few steps. When he shook vision clear again, he saw the young dark-haired boy standing with a long telescoping staff in his hands—another thing he grabbed from underneath Robin’s cape. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” The intruder sneered, “A Robin’s staff does not make you Robin.”

He lunged at the little boy, who back stepped and swung the staff at the attacker’s legs with impressive acumen. The man sneered again and tried to step on the staff, but the staff avoided his feet, shooting upward for a hit between his legs. The intruder jumped backward out of the staff’s range with a growl, before grabbing the other end of the staff. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He hissed.

The staff was now in his control, and the other end smacked the boy right in the head without mercy. Billy collapsed like a sack of flour and did not get up this time. 

“Foolish, foolish child,” The intruder muttered.

Then calmly as a master in his own house, he closed the various doors in the Batcave, even turned off the lights, before disappearing upstairs into the manor.


	11. An Undeniable Confrontation

When Billy opened his eyes again he found himself staring into the masked face of the Dark Knight himself. He shot up into a sitting position and wanted to shout, but quickly regretted his impulse. The sudden motion set his back on fire, black spots danced before his eyes, and he couldn’t even hiss or groan properly; the strange device still clamped down over his neck and mouth, and he couldn’t make a single sound. 

“Steady,” Batman said, both hands on his shoulders, “Slow and steady, Billy. Don’t panic.” His voice held the slightest tremble, and his posture looked tenser than Billy ever remembered seeing. And then Batman turned and called, “Cyborg, he is awake; I need you to get this thing off him.”

Billy’s eyes widened when he saw his closest friend in the Justice League approach. Cyborg read his expression wrong and threw up his hands instead, speaking in a gentle and friendly manner, “Hey, it’s alright kid, I am here to help. And don’t you worry, everything will be just fine. Let’s take a look at this weird thing on your neck and get it off now, okay?”

It took Cyborg a good five minutes to finally disarm it, and the device fell off his face with a click. Billy drew a huge, staggering breath and then promptly started coughing. Batman was holding his shoulder again, patting the base of his neck gently. He murmured, “It’s going to be fine, Billy, relax.”

“Alfred! Is he okay? I couldn’t wake him! Is he alright now?” The boy exclaimed.

“I am right here and I am fine, Master William, only worried sick about you,” Alfred stepped forward, wearing a sad frown on his face.

Billy breathed a sigh of relief, before alarm overtook him once more, “What about that guy wearing a red ski mask? I… I didn’t even check on him… Oh man, please tell me he is alright.”

“I am fine; don’t worry about me,” The young man in grey body suit and red mask answered from a corner, sounding awkward, “And uh, it’s not a ski mask.”

Billy turned towards the young man in red mask. Seeing the other really appeared fine, the little boy sighed, finally relieved, and gave the vigilante a small, tentative smile. He walked up and extended a hand hopefully, “It’s uh… it’s nice meeting you. What do you go by? My name is Billy Batson by the way.”

The red mask was as expressionless as always, but the posture spoke of shock and incredulity. Eventually the two shook hands. “Call me Red Hood,” The vigilante said.

Billy looked as if he was about to say something, when Batman cut in and said, “Now Billy, you have been through a lot; we can speak later, after you have rested. Alfred, why don’t you take the boys up? Red Hood, can you see to the kid? His cuts will have to be cleaned up and wrapped. And then all three of you get some food and sleep.”

Billy frowned and said, “With all due respect, sir, I think I need to be here right now. Let me tell you what happened in detail…”

“That’s enough, Billy,” Batman’s voice became sterner, “Alfred and Red Hood already told me what happened, and we have cameras in here. You need to go upstairs.”

Just then Aquaman emerged from the pools and joined them in the cave, tracking water in his wake and saying, “Batman, they did not come in through the river. Even if they can breathe underwater the current would be too strong for most... Uh….” The King of Atlantis stopped and looked at Billy and Batman alternatively, rather confused by the now conscious and very calm and focused small boy and a tense looking Batman.

“You are right, Aquaman, I am pretty sure the intruder came in through the Wayne Manor,” Billy said in a firm voice, “He left the secret passageway into the Batcave wide open! That’s why I came down here; I was in the library and basically saw a hole in the wall. I thought something was wrong. And when we fought he used a gadget that basically made a lightning storm inside the cave; maybe that was how he broke all the cameras and sensors.”

This time the silence lasted even longer as every stared at the small boy with disbelief. “‘When we fought’?” Batman eventually growled out, “You fought him?”

Billy blinked, before saying, “I was trying to run away from him, and then he put that thing on my neck and I was really scared. I was just trying to run, really. Anyway, about what happened? When I got down here I saw Alfred and Red Hood, but the intruder wasn’t in this room. Another secret door was open. Hmm, where is that door? Wait, I think it’s here…”

He started walking towards one corner of the cavern, but only took a few steps before he collapsed onto his knees with a hiss. While the others were still staring a little slack-jawed Batman swooped up the child in his arms. “What’s wrong?” He asked, trying to sound gentle but failing.

Billy answered nervously, “Nothing much, head… just a little dizzy.” With that he started shaking his head vigorously, as if trying to shake his head clear of something.

Batman put a gloved hand on the child’s head and snapped, “Hold still; if you have a concussion this is only making things worse. Alfred…”He glanced towards the old butler and paused for a moment, before saying, “Red Hood, take Alfred upstairs. Go get some rest, both of you. Cyborg, Aquaman, I am trusting the two of you with this for now. Keep collecting evidence and see if you can pull anything off the computers. I will be over at the back, in the med bay.”

“Batman, but…” Billy was about the protest again, but swallowed his words at Batman’s severe look. 

With the child ensconced firmly in his arms, Batman swept into the medical bay tucked in a corner of the Batcave. He set the child on the bed and dug out some supplies. “I will clean the cut on your head and it’s going to sting,” Batman warned, “Try to hold still as best as you can.”

Billy nodded and did not reply. He sat perfectly still, barely even blinking, as Batman dabbed at the long bloody cut on his head with alcohol, seemingly oblivious to the pain. After Batman finishes wrapping his head he murmurs in a small voice, “So can we…”

“Take off your shirt,” Batman said brusquely, “Let me take a look at your back.”

Billy gave Batman a surly look, but still took off his shirt obediently. This time he did hiss when his clothes dragged across the scraps and cuts on his back. Unbeknownst to Billy, Batman was clenching his jaws so tightly they threatened to lock as he fixed the small boy’s back. When Batman was finishing up with bandaging Billy tried again. “Should we go back to find Cyborg and…”

“No,” Batman said, “You need to eat something and then sleep; I will take you upstairs.”

There was a pause, before Billy said in a louder voice with palpable frustration, “Will you ever let me help?”

“No. You stay upstairs.”

“But this is important!” Billy jumped down from the bed and stood facing the Dark Knight with a very serious expression, “Someone broke into the Batcave, he went pass all security just like that, and he knows your secret identity, I am sure of it! He called me ‘Batman’s brat’. There has to be a big plot! He went through two doors and went down those stairs. He wanted something and he knew where it was.”

Batman stood very still and stared at his son. The boy was wearing such a fierce expression, so purposeful and completely unafraid, he could not be the boy who stumbled onto a terrible big secret unprepared. 

“You knew you would find the Batcave when you stepped into the secret passage,” Batman said, and it was not a question.

Billy bit his bottom lip. He had a pained look on his face, almost as if he was fighting someone inside. Eventually he muttered, “Just the way you talked about Batman yesterday, it sounded personal. And you aren’t home at night, and you always have bandages or bruise on you. It made sense. Then yesterday, when I said I ran away to buy a game, I actually went to the Hollows. I thought perhaps… And then I saw Dick leaving. He didn’t see me but I know he left that game Swordhunter there, at a new grave without a name. Barbara told me it was Damian’s favorite game.” 

And that was when Billy started crying. Tears filled his big blue eyes, and with a couple blinks they all came rolling down his cheeks, leaving wet streaks. The boy sniffed and continued in between heartbroken sobs, “Why didn’t you tell me? It’s okay if you can’t tell me that you are Batman, but why didn’t you tell me about Damian? I thought he would be home for Christmas! I was trying to find a present for him. And I kept asking you and Alfred about him, I bugged Dick and Barbara nonstop too. They must all hate me for this! I am sorry, I am really sorry. Can you tell me everything now? Tell me what happened, or tell me I am wrong, tell me Damian really is fine…” The boy’s already strained voice completely fell apart, and he was now crying openly without even any attempt to hold himself together.

Batman only stood there, utterly frozen like a statue, even incapable of a small gesture like putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. 

“Batman,” Cyborg was seen approaching the med bay, “Batman, we have got a situation. Superman and Wonder Woman are seen in Kahndaq; you know the sanction on interference there… Oh, um…” He too stared at the crying boy with an awkward expression, almost as if he suddenly did not know where he should put his hands and feet. 

Batman finally seemed to awake. He drew a shattering breath and said, “Alright, that’s enough. Billy, go to your room, and go to sleep. There is something I must deal with right now.” When the boy simply stared back at him with those blue eyes brimming with tears Batman clenched his teeth and hissed, “I said go, elevator is right over there!”

Billy did not speak. Still sobbing quietly, he turned around and walked towards the elevator, disappearing behind its sliding doors.  
“Get me to Kahndaq, I need to talk to those two,” Batman said to Cyborg. 

But Cyborg was still staring at the elevator door and looking more uncertain than ever. “But Batman, don’t you think the boy…”

“Stay out of it,” The Dark Knight growled, “And stay focused.”

Aquaman walked up and gave Batman a sidelong look, before saying, “Though the boy is correct, we need to get down to the bottom of this.”

“I have a pretty good idea what the intruder came for, which is why it’s paramount that I get to Kahndaq and talk some sense into those two clueless kids over there. Now. And as for finding the intruder I will get to it.”

Aquaman was still gazing at the Dark Knight with this critical look, and he began in an earnest voice, “Look, Batman…”

He barely said a few words when he was interrupted by an angry roar. “Stay the hell out of it Arthur!”

Aquaman said no more and only gave a sad shake of his golden head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments everyone! So this chapter and the next few chapter touch on the big event from the New 52 comics, namely Trinity War. I will post more notes about what story is all about a couple more chapters in.


	12. An Undead Name

Sunday afternoon, Barbara received a call from Alfred just as she was scrambling to get ready to head over to the Wayne manor for Billy’s tutoring session. Her second encounter with the Ventriloquist ended well and the psycho was finally put away, but she was also injured and exhausted beyond description. She easily slept past breakfast and lunch and now she was running late. Maybe an apologetic ice cream cone was in order. She was pondering the issue fondly when Alfred called. 

“Miss Barbara, I thought I must tell you this before you arrive,” Alfred’s voice sounded unusually sad and tired, “Billy was hurt last night. He ran afoul an intruder in the Batcave.”

“That’s terrible! Is the kid alright? I mean… Wait, what?” It took a couple seconds of processing time before it finally clicked for Barbara, and she was stunned speechless.

There was actually a quiet sigh from the other end of the phone line, which only alarmed Barbara some more. She was still speechless when Alfred finished the story. She was always of the opinion that Billy should know, not only about Damian, but about the entire Batman business. But certainly she did not want the boy to find out like this, deciphering the truth all by himself and then jumping head first into a confrontation with a dangerous unknown villain.

“I kept him at home today,” Alfred murmured, “Master Bruce is away on League business, and he is in no state to speak to the boy about anything in either case. Master Richard just left for Chicago yesterday. I was hoping, Miss Barbara, you might forego whatever lessons you planned and just talk to the boy.”

“I will try my best,” Barbara said quietly.

Billy was in the gym, looking ridiculously calm and focused for a small boy who was just brutalized by an intruder less than twenty-four hours ago. That was how Barbara found him, running on the treadmill machine while reading a book and murmuring to himself. Barbara had to shake her head. How often did one see a little boy running the treadmill and reading at the same time? That was something for time-crunched college students and white collar businessmen, but not for a ten-year-old!

“Hey Billy,” Barbara tried to keep her voice light and unaffected, “What are you reading there?”

“Barbara!” The boy closed his book and jumped off the treadmill, beaming at her, “You are here, great! I thought you might not come today. And this is just my English reader. There is a spelling quiz tomorrow, and I am looking at the words again. I want to do well; I have already gotten better in English.”

“Good to see you so hard at work, but I didn’t know you think better while running?”

“The running?” Billy shrugged and mumbled with discomfort, “Just thought I’d get more exercise. I want to become stronger, do the kind stuff you and Dick can do.”

“Do you want to be an acrobat or a gymnast? You are not considering becoming a ballerina right?” Barbara meant to tease, but her voice was anything but. Deep down she knew exactly what the boy meant: to join them in their nightly crusades. But no, not that! Never mind Bruce, even she wouldn’t allow it; no more of ten-year-olds throwing themselves into dangers unimaginable. 

The boy flushed and he protested with a laugh, “Aw, Barbara, I said I was sorry! I didn’t mean to make fun at your dancing stuff, and I know now a dancer is just as much as of an athlete as an acrobat.” And then he sobered up and said in a serious voice, “But I want to learn how to fight. It’s important.”

Barbara sat herself down on the floor and motioned for Billy to join her. “Alfred told me what happened last night,” She began quietly once Billy sat down beside her.

“Alfred told you?” The little boy blinked a couple times before realization dawned, “Of course! You are part of it too. You are Batwoman? Or Batgirl?”

Barbara actually laughed at this. “I’m Batgirl, actually. Batwoman is a more elusive figure. I think only Bruce knows who she really is. You probably figured out already who Dick is, right?”

“Yeah, Nightwing. Alfred said he went to Chicago yesterday? Did something happen?”

“He received some intel about a criminal; don’t worry, he is perfectly fine.”

There was a moment of silence, before Billy said hesitantly, “Barbara, please, please don’t get mad at me for asking this. But did Tim leave Gotham because… well, because he is not doing this bat thing?”

“What? No!” Barbara took the boy’s hand in her own and said, “Not at all, Billy. Tim left because… Actually it’s a long story. He is part of the family, as much as you or any of us. But he leads his own crime fighting team now, that’s why he can’t visit as often.” Well, that was half-truth at best; Tim hardly wanted to visit all that often in any case.

But Billy seemed to be more focused on the other issue. “So he is in this too!”

Barbara immediately sensed that the conversation was going down the most dreaded yet perhaps inevitable path. Before she could even formulate an appropriate speech, Billy blurted out, “I… I want to help.”

Barbara took a deep breath to stop the flat “no” from coming out of her month. One Bruce was more than enough, Billy did not need to deal with another. She took a couple moments to compose her lines, before saying, “Billy, it’s nice you want to help, but you don’t have to. In fact, you shouldn’t. What kind of family would we be if we send out a ten-year old boy into the streets at night fighting dangerous criminals?”

“But…” Billy frowned. Whatever he wanted to say, he caught himself mid-sentence and fell silent.

Barbara thought she knew what Billy was going to say, so she went on carefully, “Damian was a different story, Billy. His mother was a member of a criminal organization, and when he came to us he was already fully trained as an assassin. Robin was almost like a transition for him; it was as normal as it could be for him. If we could we would’ve stopped him altogether. He did not any sort of recognizable childhood, and now he would never have anything else either…” Barbara had to breathe again to stop her voice from breaking down. She counted slowly to five before she continued, “Billy, none of us wants his life for you. We want you to have a healthy, happy childhood and grow up to be who you want to be, not who we are.”

“I’m sorry, Barbara,” Billy threw himself at Barbara and hugged the young woman fiercely, “For this and for every time before I just asked you about Damian like that…”

Involuntarily Barbara hissed. Friday night’s lonesome patrol in Gotham had given her more bruised ribs on top of layers of old injuries. She could do without a full body hug right now. Billy let go of her as if burned and actually jumped up, now staring at her with horror. “I’m so sorry,” He said in a rush, “That was dumb; I shouldn’t have done that. Did I make it worse?… I…” 

“Hey, relax, Billy,” Barbara took the boy’s hand and pulled him down again, “I’m fine, it stung a little and I was surprised, don’t worry about it. But that was what I mean though. You shouldn’t live like this, always full of injuries that you can’t even hug someone.”

Billy gave her a look and replied glumly, “I can’t hug you anyway.”

It was a very simple statement but it hit Barbara a lot harder than imagined, and she simply could not find a response. She stared at the child, suddenly at a loss. Billy started once more in a slow and quiet voice, “And Barbara, I wasn’t going to say that Damian did it. That’s just…Anyway, I’m not trying to replace him; I know I can’t. I just want to help. Did Mr. Wayne ever tell you that I used to run errands for Occupy Fawcett City? I really liked it. I like helping people.”

Here Barbara finally found her voice. “And you can definitely help people, in so many ways. You don’t have to go to the extremes that we do, and you shouldn’t, Billy, you are a ten-year-old. Please let us protect you.”

“But I want to protect you guys too! I was so useless last night. I…” The little boy stood once more and took a deep breath, “I know I can help people in lots of different ways. I am helping people. But this is not just about anyone, I want to help you guys: you and Dick and Mr. Wayne, especially Mr. Wayne. He is just so sad and angry. Batman always had a Robin. Batman needs a Robin, right?”

Barbara knew she should say no and simply crush the boy’s unrealistic ideas, but she could not. The Dark Knight was still lonely, cold, reckless and relentless. He still patrolled the streets like a machine, oblivious to pain and danger; even the thought of a son to go home to could not make him err on the side of caution. It was only three days ago when Bruce told her he simply could not bear spending more time with his own flesh and blood. And now? Batman would rather be away on Justice League business than keeping watch over his son, who had just discovered a terrible secret and escaped death in one fell swoop. He would only grow more reclusive and reckless from here on. Billy was absolutely right: Batman always had a Robin—Batman always needs a Robin.

“It doesn’t have to be you, Billy,” Barbara protested weakly, “It shouldn’t be you.”

“I know I can’t be Robin right now, I am not good enough. I might never get there, maybe I can never do the kind of stuff you and Dick can do. But I want to try,” The child looked at Barbara directly in the eyes, “I want to be there for you guys. Will you help me try?”

“I can’t make that kind of decision for Bruce,” Barbara said quietly.

They both fell silent for a long time, staring at each. Eventually Billy asked, “So how did all of you start, Barbara? How come Mr. Wayne agreed to let you guys join?” When Barbara remained silent he added with a frown, “You won’t even tell me that?”

Barbara sighed. At that precise moment she realized there was no stopping the boy now. There was such a fearsome light in those big blue eyes, so bright and reassuring it seemed unbefitting of the tender face. That’s how all of them looked. Why did Bruce always find the crazy ones? Those stubborn and fearless little boys who would gladly become his fellow crusaders, undeterred by pain or death or worse still?

Then again, maybe she wasn’t the one to talk. 

In any case, she better do something productive. It wouldn’t hurt to teach the kid more self-defense, and a few basic pointers about how to survive as the son of Batman were in order anyway. And of course, someone needs to keep an eye on him. She stood up and took a deep breath, forcing away all the pain and uncertainty in her chest. Then she said earnestly, “Bruce accepted us because we all proved to him we have the drive and the skills to do the right thing and to stay alive. Look, Billy, I have been giving you martial arts lessons already, haven’t I? I can keep doing that. I can teach you everything I know. But ultimately the decision rests with your father, for quite a few years at least.”

A brilliant grin slowly lit up Billy’s face, and the boy said, “I can’t possibly ask for more; thank you. I would hug you again if I could, Barbara.”

Barbara laughed lightly. She put her arms around the boy’s small shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. “You are a good boy, Billy,” She whispered beside his ear, before straightening, “Now come on, let’s go over the moves I showed you last time. After dinner we can read a good book and then maybe go over some basic things you should know as the son of Batman, how is that?”

It shouldn’t be this particular little boy, so young and innocent, with no personal demons to make peace with, no overwhelming tragedy to avenge. Perhaps it would not even be him.

But it would be someone. Like Batman, Robin never dies.


	13. Interlude: Trinity War Begins

With a frown Alfred rewound the security video and watched it from the beginning once more. 

The breaking and entering at the Batcave of all places, by an enemy who clearly knew Batman’s identity and had the answer to every security precaution Batman set up still hung over them like a palpable storm cloud. Apparently this enemy had stolen the kryptonite ring from the depth of the Batcave and gave it to an alien named Despero, who then promptly attacked the Watchtower. While Despero was neutralized and the ring recovered, the mastermind behind it all was still invisible to them. Batman had pursued this threat relentlessly in the past few days. In fact, Batman was so intent on the intruder, he seemed to overlook another important matter. 

Overlooked, or just did not want to see? Alfred shook his head sadly. But someone had to look into it, so here he was. In front of the old butler the brief security video continued rolling. 

The intruder to the Batcave was dressed in a special suit with electromagnetic shielding, Cyborg had explained, so he would not show up on any camera. However his brief encounter was Alfred and Red Hood was still captured on film; Alfred could see the painful detail of himself crashing into the empty glass case and the blur of black that was the intruder. After Alfred dropped down unconscious the intruder became invisible to the security camera again, and there was nothing but unmoving machines in the video. Nearly ten minutes later, Billy dropped into the video frame. The boy rushed towards Alfred and knelt down, two fingers on the butler’s neck and a hand on his arm, and then pushing Alfred to lie on his side.

Alfred clicked pause, his frown deepening. The expression on the boy’s face was just all wrong. He was tense, yet focused and even calm. The wonders of the Batcave did not distract him, and the unconscious bodies did not frighten him; his posture was that of a warrior, ready to spring into action. And he certainly knew how to find a pulse, the ease and precision of his motion screamed “he had done it before”. 

“First aid knowledge and training.”

Alfred scratched another line on his notepad. 

As the video continued, glares lit up the screen before him, swallowing Billy’s figure whole, and then the video ended. Here was when all cameras, sensors, and electronics failed inside the Batcave, fried back into the stone age despite the best surge protection. It looked almost as if the very air in the Batcave became ionized and conductive, releasing a flood of charges—a real lightning storm indoor. 

“Immunity to electromagnetic shocks?” Alfred wrote.

Either that or Billy was extremely lucky that he somehow managed to escape unscathed a lightning storm surging through a cave full of metal objects. 

And then what? Cameras and sensors were off, but Billy did manage tell them a few things before Batman firmly pushed the boy out of the whole business. Alfred continued scribbling on his notepad.

“Why the inhibitor and mask on a little boy? Voice related metahuman ability?”

“Asked after Master Jason’s alias, but not Cyborg and Aquaman? Media exposure to Justice League or more?”

“Previous encounter/experience with vigilante work?”

“Wants to be Robin.”

Alfred scratched a few underlines after the last line for emphasis and sighed. He had always known that Bruce Wayne could not bring home a child without eventually bringing the child into the family business in every sense of the word, but this was turning out to be more complicated than he could have ever imagined. Of course, Bruce was still so deep in denial he did not even seem to notice all the peculiarities trailing Billy’s footstep. In his present mind set Bruce would consider nothing but a wall to keep the boy permanently shut out. 

Except it was clear Billy was not one to be shut out. In fact he was probably already more immersed than anyone had realized. Alfred fingered his note and made up his mind to speak to Bruce. They must decipher exactly what fate loomed over the youngest Wayne child. Just then his phone rang.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred murmured in greeting.

“Alfred, I need you at the Hollows, now,” Bruce’s voice of barely contained fury sounded from the other end of the line, “Bring the CSI kit.”

“Of course; may I inquire what happened?”

“Someone... Damn it, it was the League of Assassins; they dug up Damian and his mother’s grave. They stole him.”

Alfred was still collecting forensic evidence from the desecrated graves, but Bruce Wayne seemed to lose interest already. It was only too obvious who took the body of his son and that of the child’s mother—Ra’s Al Ghul, but who else? Collecting evidence almost seemed like an unnecessary habitual compulsion. Bruce straightened, took a couple steps back, and looked at the old headstones a distance away. Now that he was no longer mired in a fit of murderous rage, it was easy to see what he missed.

“You can come out now, Billy,” He said in a low, harsh hiss, “Don’t make me go over there.”

It remained silent for a few seconds, and then they heard the shuffling of fabric and leaves and grass. Billy crawled out from behind a headstone, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. He stared at the empty graves and the piles of dirt with terror, and eventually he whispered, “I heard you guys talk. Did someone… did someone really steal Damian? Why?”

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and growled, “You are supposed to be home. Barbara is supposed to watch you!”

“She didn’t come,” Billy explained, “I called and her roommate answered, said she came home last night really tired and is still sleeping. I thought she must’ve had a hard night, you know what it is, and I shouldn’t bother her.”

Bruce massaged his temples tiredly. After quelling the sudden surge of worry for Barbara, he asked, “So why are you here?”

“I went to check on Barbara; I wanted to make sure she is okay and bring her some cookies Alfred made. And then on my way back I thought I should come here, a quick visit, that’s all. I…” Billy looked at the unearthed graves once more, the anxious look on his face slowly turning into a palpable anger, “Why? Why would anyone do that?!”

“Because doing what we do beget many enemies, all heartless and insane,” Bruce answered bitterly.

Billy walked up and put a hand on his father’s arm tentatively. His touch was feather light, almost as if he was afraid to put any weight into the physical contact. “We are going to get Damian back, right, Mr. Wayne? You said you know who took him; do you know where they are?” The boy whispered.

Bruce brushed the boy’s hand away. He steeled himself and said, “No, there is no ‘we’ in this. This is none of your business; you will not get involved and you are not to come here again, understand?” These two sentences were all but impossible to say, and the wounded look in Billy’s eyes was like a knife in the guts. Bruce dearly wanted to kneel down and hug the child with all his might, but he forced himself back, standing so rigidly as if an actual wall towered between him and his son. Some boundaries must be kept at all cost, lest he lose another child. 

“Do you hear me, boy?” He said once more.

Something flared in Billy’s big blue eyes; it looked like anger, or resentment, but mostly it was exasperation. The boy gave a curt nod and said with distasteful emphasis, “Fine.”

Bruce turned to his butler and said, “Alfred, please take Billy back to the manor; I can finish up here alone.”

Alfred sighed sadly and murmured, “Of course, Master Bruce.”

His father’s sanction did little; only three days later Billy was back at his brother’s empty grave once more. He snuck into the cemetery in the dead of the night and set down his big backpack right beside the headstone. The boy pulled out a few camping lights and arranged them around him. The light seemed eerily faint in the pitch black of the cemetery, but it was enough to work with. Billy then took out a large sheet of tracing paper from his pocket and unfolded it, revealing an enormous diagram of overlaid circles and pentagrams and rows and circles of inscriptions. The air itself seemed to crackle with magic as the spell was laid bare, and Billy could not help but shiver. Captain Marvel may be the rightful inheritor of Solomon’s magic and even one of the most powerful living sorcerers, but Billy Batson was still rather unnerved by the dark power hidden within the depth of his mind, the kind of power he could so easily put down on a piece of paper.

He carefully flattened the tracing paper on the ground and placed a globe at the middle of the magical diagram. He then dug out a Swiss army knife from his pocket and dragged the blade across his finger, wincing as he let blood drip onto the magical diagram. He took a deep breath and began reading the inscriptions out loud. His voice quivered and shook towards the end of the long recitation. Billy was no sorcerer, certainly not skilled enough to handle one of Solomon’s intricate spells, but this particular tracking spell must be read aloud by a blood relative. Even as he tried to wrap his tongue around those strange words, thick magical energies surged without control, threatening to fry his brain, and his voice was beginning to slur. Just a little longer, got to finish saying everything, Billy told himself. He tried to ignore the vertigo and just picture Damian in his mind, this brother he had never met. When he finally pronounced the last syllable of the spell he breathed again, and called, “Shazam!”

The thunderbolt of Zeus shot down from the inky night sky, striking the boy and the intricate spell laid out on the ground. When the glaring lights faded Captain rose from the glows of the magical circle, holding the globe in his hand. A point of faint green light on the globe marked a location in North Africa. It should have been a concern, but Captain Marvel froze for an entirely different reason as he stared at the globe in his hand, almost as if afraid to blink. 

The point of light should not be green. Solomon’s knowledge told him that if he were truly tracking a dead body, he would be seeing a glowing red point on the globe, not a green one. 

Damian lived. 

But barely. The green light seemed so faint, almost as if it would go out the next second or soon become the red one he was expecting to see. Captain Marvel did not ponder the issue long. He took one last look at the globe in his hand, memorized the location, and then took off into the night sky. Somewhere in the back of the mind he knew he was heading straight into Kahndaq, the closed off nation embroiled in civil war and refusing all outside mediation. He could easily be taken as an “imperialist meddler”, his innocuous act a declaration of war. But how could he turn back, knowing that his brother yet lived, and the wound bleeding his entire family dry could perhaps be healed? He just had to be better at avoiding detection. 

And of course it would not be so simple; things always went wrong. 

Captain Marvel remained calm and held his ground when he was intercepted by Kahndaqi military. He was so close, and no way would he leave before he found his brother, even if it meant tearing off gun turrets from a dozen tanks. His heart sank a little when Superman appeared right in front of him and delivered a punch that actually hurt, and the entire Justice League following in Superman’s wake. Captain Marvel looked at the Justice League with despair. It wasn’t like he really could explain his action before, but now with Batman of all people here, it became all but impossible to even try. By the time the newly formed, government-sponsored Justice League of America appeared to allegedly repel the Justice League from Kahndaq, Captain Marvel realized with a heavy heart that his selfish quest had truly sparked something terrible. 

Though no one save the perpetrator of this crime could have imagined the forever evil unleashed upon the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I am going to explain the Trinity War storyline but that really should happen after next chapter in order to avoid all potential spoilers lol. Enjoy!


	14. The Matrix

Captain Marvel was in a dark place. 

It was subterranean and faintly lit by unknown glows, a landscape filled with stones that drip, flow and grow like trees. One can easily imagine a Minotaur or some other such monster at the heart of this stony maze, lying in wait. But no Minotaur was going to deter Captain Marvel. He would save his brother, whatever it took; nothing could stop him, no price was too high to pay. This was his last chance to have a real family. 

It has been nearly four years since Billy Batson’s parents died half an Earth away. Billy had been tossed out to the rough waters of an ineffective foster care system and a coldhearted uncle, struggling to stay afloat. There were people who loved him and cared for him; Mr. Dudley was like an uncle to him, and Ms. Glaukos was the greatest Mentor one could hope for, in every sense of the word, but a voice in his head kept reminding him, they were not family. 

He had a real father and a brother, people who shared his blood, a real family. But his brother was near death and his father was too grieved to love him. If only he could bring Damian home! Then everything would be just perfect. There would be smiles instead of growls, and no more walls that kept him shut out, and his adopted siblings would no longer be sad and injured all the time. All he had to do was bring Damian home. If he couldn’t his father would never love him, he would never have a real family. 

Captain Marvel paused briefly at yet another fork in the path. Straight, turn right, or left? He paused briefly and then chose then path heading down deeper into the bowel of the Earth. He did not know how much time had passed since he began his search; he could not even be sure whether he was embarking new territory. Was he going in circles, never getting anywhere in truth? Perhaps. It even seemed likely. But he could not stop; compulsion boiled his blood like a raging wildfire. 

Just then a face appeared in front of Captain Marvel; a green face, in fact, floating in the darkness disembodied. 

“Captain!” The face called, “Captain Marvel.”

Captain Marvel squinted, and after a long moment he asked quizzically, “Martian Manhunter?”

“Yes.”

“I would talk to you, but I am in the middle of something important,” Captain Marvel said, “I have to get to my brother.”

The green face seemed to blink. “Your brother?”

“My brother who is dying!” Captain Marvel surged forward, “Talk to you later, Manhunter.”

The green face continued to float beside him, now wearing an expression of worry and urgency. “Come now, Captain Marvel, none of this is real! Think about it carefully, can you even remember how you came to this place? This is but an elaborate dream.”

“What are you talking about? This is not a dream. I performed a tracing spell at my brother’s empty grave, only to find him alive. I followed the spell across half a planet. He is here, I just need to find him and bring him home!”

“No, none of this is real! Do you remember how long you have been in this place? Where is your brother? You cannot find him, and you will not.” The green face rushed in front of Captain Marvel and expanded into the full form of the Martian Manhunter, and the alien continued, “I sense you are at your full strength, Captain, only confused. Please, wake up; we have need of your power. All of us are in a strange prison; we must break out, now!”

Captain Marvel growled and threw a punch at that green, alien face. He did not even bother controlling the force of the hit; the Martian Manhunter could easily take a punch even from him. The Martian staggered back a couple steps. “Leave me alone!” Captain Marvel roared at the alien with uncharacteristic rage, “Don’t waste my time; I have to do this.”

The green alien entreated for one last time, “Please Captain Marvel, you have the Wisdom of Solomon, please take a moment and think about this situation.” When Captain Marvel did not respond Martian Manhunter shook his head sadly and his form slowly vanished.  
God knows how long after Martian Manhunter vanished Captain Marvel finally paused in his relentless pursuit. “Manhunter was at least right about one thing,” He rubbed his face with frustration, “I won’t find anyone this way. Wisdom of Solomon, right, that tracking spell, one more time.” 

He broke off a piece of stalactite and began scratching a spell on the damp ground. Once the diagrams and inscriptions were complete, all it needed was Billy Batson’s blood and voice. Without thinking much Captain Marvel called out eagerly, “Shazam!”

Lightning tore through the darkness like nature’s furious roar. The subterranean cavern seemed to disintegrate all around him, falling away to reveal interminable darkness lit by unknown glows. It was like floating in the middle of the vast expanse of space, with neither direction nor substance to speak of. Captain Marvel blinked slowly and then he realized he was still six-feet-three and garbed in red with the white cape floating behind him. He was still the champion of magic, not Billy Batson. 

All of us are in a strange prison. This is but an elaborate dream. 

“Holy moly,” Captain Marvel whispered, blue eyes wide like saucers. What on Earth happened? Something bad, really bad…Where was the rest of Justice League, and by God, Cyborg!

But before he could make head or tail of it all his senses were beginning to slip again. The strange cavern he found himself in before seemed to unfold from the nothingness all around. The ground beneath his feet was beginning to feel soft and damp, water dripped and pooled, and stalagmite grew swiftly like young trees. 

No, no more illusions! 

Captain Marvel squared his shoulders and gathered bolts of lightning between his palms. Whatever illusions keeping him captive had to be electromagnetic signals of some kind; he will just have to shock those apparitions out of himself. The space around him was now a kaleidoscope of colors and lights, ever shifting and changing, making him dizzier by the second. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, letting the lightning of Zeus flow through him, stunning every nerve ending and setting every hair standing on its end. Captain Marvel kept his eyes firmly closed, trying to only listen and feel the room around him, and only when everything felt calm again did he open his eyes. He was in the middle of nothingness, the interminable dark lit by unknown glows. Taking a deep breath, Captain Marvel forced himself to sit down and think. 

What happened? 

He was looking for Damian, was he not? Right, he snuck out to Damian’s empty grave at night and performed a tracing spell, hoping to retrieve Damian’s stolen body. The spell told him his brother lived, but barely. He rushed out like the stupid kid he was, walked straight into Kahndaq and even got into a little scuffle with the Kahndaqi military. Then apparently both the Justice League and the Justice League of America showed up in his wake, ready to take him out of Kahndaq. 

And then? 

And then in the confused near-battle Superman killed Doctor Light with a blast of heat vision to the head.

His vision was beginning to darken again; the dark above him replaced by a ceiling of craggy rocks that dripped down stony icicles. The cave was back, and Damian’s name began to reverberate between his skulls, every cry more urgent than the last. Save Damian, save Damian, save Damian…

“No!” Captain Marvel roared, sending another electric storm tearing through his own body.

He would not become locked within his own selfish rashness again, not when there was so much more at stake. The illusions were beaten back, but not as much as he hoped for; there was still more cave than the actual prison cell. He could not resist for much longer, he must escape, now!

He traced a simple diagram in the air and activated it with a small bolt of magic lightning, calling for one of his greatest weapons. With a brief flash of light the Nimean Dagger appeared in his hand. This was one of Hercules’s spoils, a blade made from the claw of the Nimean lion, so sharp and powerful it could cut through anything, even carve a path through the fabric of space-time continuum itself, a teleportation device of the magical variety. He had not used the dagger since obtaining it and could only pray it would work as he hoped.

“O Mightiest blade, cut me a path home!”

The screech sounded as if he was cutting open metal and stone. White light flared and filled the space around him, obscuring everything. The next thing he knew he was standing in the middle of his own bedroom in Wayne Manor. The light was turned off, and it was quiet; by the faint moonlight streaming in through the open windows he could see everything was just like how he left them, as if he had only gone down stairs to grab a midnight snack, nothing more. 

But everything has changed.

A quick spell stowed away the Nimean Dagger, and with a whispered “Shazam”, Billy Batson fell back into his bed. This time it actually worked.

The small boy groaned as memories returned and flooded him, the exhaustion and guilt crashing down on his chest and making it hard to even breathe. His misguided, hotheaded, ill-conceived mission to save his brother had inadvertently turned the noblest hero a killer. But of course Superman could not have been the true killer, there had to be another explanation. Everyone at the scene had split off into groups, trying to find some answers. At that point Captain Marvel had to give up his search for Damian to help others investigate the issue at hand. They were tracking Pandora’s Box, yes, the Pandora’s Box from the mythical ages. Wonder Woman believed it had influenced Superman somehow when Pandora pushed the box into his hands. But when Pandora and the Box were found things only went from bad to worse. The Box had some unholy influence over people; anyone who touched it was instantly driven mad by desire and envy and contempt. 

Billy shuddered at the memory. When he touched Pandora’s Box he was suddenly hit with a deluge of sights and sounds; he could sense people and places and even powers from worlds strange and far. Magic coursed through him like fire, and the only voice echoing between his skulls was the cry for more. 

Eventually by chance and design alike, all of Earth’s greatest heroes had gathered around Pandora’s Box. Under the influence of the Box heroes battled each other, the nobility and restraint they had once known all but gone. And when heroes were spent, Pandora’s Box opened, releasing the gateway to evil—a mirror universe where every goodness is reflected by cruelty. From the other side of the portal the Crime Syndicate emerged, this dark, sinister reflection of the Justice League, and before the fallen heroes of Earth they laughed and declared their reign. 

That was stupid of us, Billy sighed soundlessly, that was so stupid of me. 

The intruder who broke into the Batcave effortlessly was none other than Alfred, an otherworldly, evil version of him. The kryptonite that was stolen and then recovered from Despero was in truth never recovered in full, the villains kept a microscopic chip for future use. Newly recruited League member Atomica was in truth evil Alfred’s ally and she jammed that missing kryptonite chip into Superman’s brain. And Cyborg! How could anyone have known that he was infected by a sentient computer virus known as Grid all this time, feeding their enemies every secret there was to know? Billy could never forget that terrifying moment when the cybernetic parts of Cyborg’s body suddenly ripped away and formed a new robotic creature, leaving behind broken pieces of Victor Stone, barely more than a head and the upper torso.

To think he almost saw Cyborg of all people, his closest friend and ally, die right before his eyes! As images flashed before his eyes Billy shuddered once more. Simon Baz had immediately wrapped Cyborg’s body with Green Lantern energy, and when even that was beginning to fail Captain Marvel had no choice but to make Cyborg take a bite of the Golden Apple. The fruit of the gods could not easily repair so broken a body, but it would keep Cyborg alive no matter what. It would keep him alive forever, in fact. There may be a day when he would come to rue the action, but he simply could not watch Cyborg die and do nothing! Where was Cyborg now? He wondered. Batman had taken off carrying Cyborg, with Captain Marvel and Simon Baz covering their retreat, but it was unclear if anybody escaped. It took no more than a couple seconds for the enemy to trap them all within the Firestorm Matrix. 

How could they fall for it so easily? It was a plot like none other, yes, five years in the making and supported by nearly complete information that no villain could even begin to dream of. But still there were hints and signs, and for one reason or another, every alarm fell on deaf years. And of course it was Captain Marvel who set foot in Kahndaq first, igniting this nuclear catastrophe.  
It was all his fault. 

And now what? 

Billy rolled out of bed and dragged himself into the corridor, stumbling along and trying to find someone. He was so tired and he wanted nothing more than to just lie down and sleep, but now was not the time to sleep. Did Batman make it back already? Or would he go elsewhere with Cyborg? Was Alfred home? What about Dick and Barbara and Tim’s superhero team, they could probably help, right?  
The manor was dark and deadly silent, making Billy more fearful with every step. When he finally heard sounds and saw a faint glow leaking into the hall from one of the studies the boy rushed in with relish. 

“Mr. Wayne, are you… Oh, Alfred!”

Alfred did not respond; his eyes were glued on the computer monitor in front of him. Billy turned to look and he froze as well. The Crime Syndicate towered on the screen, looking even more sinister than before with those triumphant looks on their faces. The one known as Superwoman was holding a familiar lithe figure in red and black by his hair. 

“Yes, Nightwing,” Superwoman said, “But his real name is Richard Grayson.”

“Grayson has many friends and many places he calls home. We will hunt down and destroy everything this Richard Grayson cares about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is that quick summary of the Forever Evil story line from the comics as I promised. I noted the slight changes I made to it as well.
> 
> 1\. There was a break-in at the Batcave, and Batman's kryptonite ring was stolen (chapter 10 of this story)
> 
> 2\. Despero attacks the Justice League Watchtower, and the JL found that he had the kryptonite ring stolen from the Batcave and recovered the ring. However, someone carved out a microscopic chip from the kryptonite.
> 
> 3\. Pandora appeared in front of Superman and Wonder Woman. She recounted her story of opening this mystic box and unleashing the seven sins and then being cursed by the gods. She wants someone pure of heart to take the box and release her from her curse, so she gave the box to Superman. However, Superman was affected by the box, swallowed by rage and other negative feelings. Pandora was shocked and devastated that even Superman was affected by the box, so she left.
> 
> 4\. Captain Marvel (or Shazam, actually) went to Kandahq, a war-torn nation refusing all outside interference. (In the comics he did not go to Kandahq for Damian, and he was actually not a a member of Justice League just yet.) Superman and the Justice League show up to try to get him to leave Kandahq. (Interlude of this story)
> 
> 5\. Justice League of America, a JL counterpart set up by the American government, shows up as well, trying to get the JL to leave.
> 
> 6\. They all get into a bit of a scuffle, and somehow Superman kills Doctor Light (post-reboot good scientist Doctor Light who is part of the JLA) with his heat vision. Superman is detained at the ARGUS facility (he lets himself to be detained of course) and he looks really sick.
> 
> 7\. People run around trying to figure out exactly what happened to Superman. Wonder Woman is convinced Superman's is affected by Pandora's Box, so she chases after Pandora, with Zatanna from the Justice League Dark for help to track down Pandora and her box. Batman and a bunch of others go with Phantom Stranger. JLA does some other stuff.
> 
> 8\. Eventually the Justice League, Justice League America and Justice League Dark all gather at the same place with Pandora's Box. Under the influence of Pandora's Box, everyone starts fighting each other.
> 
> 9\. After everyone is all but spent from the fighting, Atomica reveals herself to be a spy and calls Cyborg a spy too. The cybernetic parts of Cyborg rip themselves away and form a robot who calls himself Grid.
> 
> 10\. Atomica explains that she is from Earth-3 and is stuck on the prime Earth for 5 years with the Outsider, or Earth-3 version of Alfred. They are working to bring the Crime Syndicate (evil JL from Earth-3) to our Earth. It was evil Alfred who broke into the Batcave and stole the Kryptonite ring. Atomica had the missing chip from the ring and she stuck it in Superman's brain. The chip struck a nerve and Superman temporarily lost control of his power, that's how he kills Dr. Light with heat vision. And Superman is dying from kryptonite poisoning.
> 
> 11\. Evil Alfred says that the Pandora's box is not magic, it's an interdimensional portal. He opens it and the Crime Syndicate comes through from Earth-3. Deathstorm (evil Firestorm) attacks and traps the JL inside of Firestorm. They are all imprisoned by illusions.
> 
> 12\. So far the people who got away are: Batman and Catwoman escaped with Cyborg's dying body; Steve Trevor was transported away from the scene by Zatanna; the entire Justice League Dark ended up in some alternative dimension (I think; I don't follow JLD...); Stargirl got out somehow with Martian Manhunter's help, but Manhunter himself is still stuck.
> 
> 13\. Crime Syndicate rules the Earth by taking control of all power and communications. They captured Nightwing and unmasked him on TV for the whole world. (Chapter 13 of this story)
> 
> Hope you guys can still follow! I know too many crazy things going on, that's comics for ya! Now on with the story.


	15. The Cave

The room was utterly silent as the old butler and the little boy stared at the screen together. A corner calendar on the computer screen displayed today’s date, November 11—Veteran’s Day. How ironic it was, that a group of supervillains should declare their victory on a day commemorating the triumph of the good and the beginning of peace. After what seemed like forever Billy was the first one to wake from the trance. He rushed up to Alfred in three bounds and hugged the old butler tightly. 

“We will save Dick,” Billy muttered vehemently, “I will get him out of there, I swear, Alfred, I will do it no matter what…”

But he could not quite finish the sentence, for the implication of his avowal suddenly frightened him. No, he couldn’t. Had he not done enough damage by throwing away every reason and sense to save a brother? But he could not just leave Dick either! This was not just about his brother; it was about the Crime syndicate trying to rob the world of its heroes and its hope! Billy was confused. He was only ten-year-old and even with all of Solomon’s knowledge he was still just a child; he really did not know what to do. 

He felt Alfred’s strong hands on his back as the old man hugged him. “I am so grateful, so grateful to see you back here again, Master William,” Alfred murmured, “Now then, go to your room and pack some clothes; I will get you somewhere safe.”

Billy blinked, before exclaiming, “What?”

Alfred knelt down in front of the boy, looking at him straight in the eyes. “It is not safe to stay here in the manor,” The butler explained with utter seriousness, “They have captured Master Dick and threatened all of his family and friends. Wayne Manor is a clear target, and given the intrusion in the Batcave not long ago, it seems whatever protection we have here is all but useless. We must get to somewhere hidden, somewhere protected. Your father has just recently established a new safe house in Gotham; we will head over there immediately.”

“But what about Dick? And we have to warn Barbara and Tim! We can’t just abandon the Batcave either; there must be something we can …”

“Listen to me,” Alfred interrupted him gently but his voice brooked no dissension, “The first and foremost thing right now is to get you to safety, Master William… Billy. After we get you to the safe house I will go find the others and Master Richard, I promise. Your father will be back, and when he returns he will not find yet another child gone, not while I am still here.”

Billy drew a deep breath and started backing away. “No Alfred, it is I who should be protecting all of you. I am sorry I didn’t tell you guys this before, I really am.” By now he was a safe twenty feet from Alfred, so he stood still and called out, “Shazam!”

The sudden white flare of the lightning bolt made Alfred closed his eyes involuntarily, and when he opened them again he saw a statuesque figure in red bodysuit and white cape before him, cackling with power and towering like some mythical creature out of the mist of bygone days. The figure in red seemed a perfect stranger, except for his blue eyes, so young and warm and familiar. Alfred stood there rooted for a long time, before he murmured, “Master William?”

“Yes, it’s me; I go by Captain Marvel when I am like this,” Replied the red-clad hero, “I am a member of the Justice League as well.” 

It was a short line, not even wholly unexpected—did he not already suspect Billy being a part of this vigilante business? But Alfred still had to sigh and sit down. There simply had been too many shocks this day, he better conduct this conversation sitting down. “Captain Marvel then,” The old butler murmured, “The villains said you are all dead; the Justice League is no more, we are told.”

“We were caught in the Firestorm Matrix,” replied Captain Marvel gravely, “But Batman got away before it happened, and Martian Manhunter was trying to free others, I think. I would go back and help them, but it seems everything is worse here. I have to get at least a few things settled before trying to help the rest of the League.”

“And what is your plan?”

“First thing first, we need to secure the cave. Batman must have something we can use in there; he is usually ready for just about anything. And I would not leave anything important in there for our enemies to find either. I would like to at least try to update the security measures for the Batcave so the Crime Syndicate cannot just walk in if they want. We will need to contact Barbara and Tim somehow. Then we go find Dick.” Here Captain Marvel paused with a pensive look, before adding, 

“There is one more ally I should find, but after the cave. And I will go back for the League once Dick is safe.”

Alfred considered everything for a moment, before saying, “The power is down, as are all communications; the only information available is the villains’ message being broadcasted everywhere. I have a feeling they can survey all communications.”

“Yes, they have with them this sentient computer virus called Grid who can access every computer on Earth the way Cyborg can, and he almost killed Cyborg…” Captain Marvel’s large hands balled into fists, and a stormy expression stole his face. 

“We have a backup generator, and if you intend to go down to the cave we must turn it on; hopefully the Crime Syndicate will not think of cutting off all natural gas supply,” Alfred said, “But if they are really monitoring all communications as you say, it would be a difficult task to get in touch with Miss Barbara and Master Timothy, with or without electricity.”

Captain Marvel nodded, speaking with a small frown, “And we can do very little if we don’t take down Grid first. Maybe Batman has something, and I know someone who might be able to help with that too. One thing at a time; can we go down to the Batcave, Alfred?”

They went down to the Batcave with a flashlight first. Only after every computer system had been unplugged did Alfred finally turn on the backup generator. They need the lights and security apparatus turned on in the cave, but it would do no good to accidentally activate a computer and give Grid an easy target. They moved through the cave methodically, from the first level work area to every nook and cranny behind every concealed door, surveying every object. There was nothing of use, only a couple robotic suits that might work well for members of the Bat family but would do little for Captain Marvel. If anything, Captain Marvel was rather disquieted by a few magical objects hidden inside the Batcave. One particular book of metal leaflets encased in a crystal box had him wincing as if in pain; he quickly traced a diagram in the air and with a small beam of lightning zapped the entire box into nothingness.

Alfred raised one eyebrow quizzically, causing Captain Marvel to explain in a placating hurry, almost like a school boy, “It was just a storage spell; I hid the book with my other magical objects and I can get it back anytime. That’s the original Book of Thoth. Something like that really is just too powerful to be lying about, even if this is the Batcave.” 

“Ah, I trust you know such things well, Captain,” Alfred said, voice a little amused and a little sad.  
Their search eventually reached the deepest pit of the entire cave, the secret room so eagerly breached by the intruder. There Captain Marvel saw Batman’s contingency plan to deal with every founding member of the Justice League, each in a small box marked by the respective target’s symbol. He stared at those boxes for a few second, before picking up the box marked for Cyborg with a sigh.

“I know Batman would have something like it; if this can stop Cyborg it probably can stop Grid.” Captain Marvel said quietly. He gave the other boxes a hesitant look but ultimately decided to leave them alone, only saying to Alfred, “Let’s get out of here, Alfred.”

Captain Marvel opened the box and studied its content as they walked upstairs. “There is a flash drive inside,” He commented, “I guess it’s some sort of program or even a computer virus? We need a functional computer, network, and someone who actually knows this stuff. Are you good with computers, Alfred?”

“I fear I will be of little use here; I certainly don’t know enough to be hacking.”

“Barbara and Tim are both pretty good with computers, right? We need to find them.”

They only took a few steps into the main cave when Captain Marvel stopped and stepped right in front of Alfred, covering the old butler with his large frame. “Someone is in the cave,” He murmured while scanning the cave, fist half raised. 

“It’s me, Batgirl; please don’t shoot, or whatever else.”

There was a pause, before a lithe form dropped noiselessly from somewhere high up—maybe a nook up on the roof of the cavern?—and landed some dozen feet from Captain Marvel. She was still looking warily from Captain Marvel to Alfred, but the red-clad hero already rushed up and gave her a bear hug, lifting her off the ground in his excitement.

“Barbara!” He exclaimed with the guileless joy of a little child, “Holy moly, I am so happy to see you here, safe and well!”

“Wow, what?” Batgirl stared at Alfred instead, blue eyes full of question.

The old butler sighed and shrugged helplessly, “This is Captain Marvel, a member of the Justice League; he is…. Ah, it’s too strange a tale; you will have to see it to believe it. Suffice to say he knows us and is known to us and of course is completely trustworthy.”

“I would show you if I could, Barbara, but too many metal things and computers down here in the cave,” Captain Marvel looked around ruefully, “I don’t want to turn on a computer accidentally; there is a supervillain controlling the entire network out there.”

Batgirl stared him for a long time, before asking, “What about the rest of Justice League, where are they? The Crime Syndicate says they are all dead. Are they… Is Batman…” Here her voice failed and collapsed into silence. 

“No, they are not dead!” Captain Marvel said in a hurried voice, “I don’t know how they did it, but the Crime Syndicate trapped all of us inside of Firestorm. We were all locked in by weird illusions. But Batman got away; Green Lantern and I covered his retreat. I escaped too, right? If I could get out others might have found a way too. And Martian Manhunter was trying to help people break out of their illusions as well. Once we save Dick and calm things down here I will go back for them, if they haven’t gotten out by themselves, that is.”

Batgirl seemed a little surprised by his words, uncertain and definitely wary, but she still answered, even putting on a small smile, “Thank you for thinking of Richard. Please tell me what I can do to help.”

Captain Marvel pressed the flash drive into her hand and said, “The Crime Syndicate has with them this computer virus robot thing called Grid; that is how they are controlling all the power grids and communication networks. If we want to do anything we have to stop Grid first. I think this is something Batman prepared to stop Cyborg just in case, might be a computer program or something? Alfred and I were hoping either you or Tim would know what to do with it.”

“Of course Batman is prepared for everything,” Batgirl murmured while frowning at the machines, “You won't even turn anything on; is this Grid’s control of the network really that strong?”

“Yes, he is just like Cyborg, who can literally access every networked device on this planet.”

“Alright then.” 

Batgirl was already kneeling down beside the main Batcave computer, hacking away at the machines with a small Swiss army knife that seemed to emerge from nowhere. Deftly she loosened the various bolts and boards and dismantled all networking and communication devices from the computer, then she inserted the flash drive and pulled up a chair before the computer. Window after window popped up on the computer monitor, filled with flashing codes and numbers. Batgirl stared at the screen intently, reading through those codes, and sometimes taking to the keyboard as well. Seeing her intent at work, Alfred left briefly for “upstairs” and returned with a large tray of food and drink. When he pressed a mug of steaming tea into Batgirl’s hand the young woman nodded and murmured her thanks, though never taking her eyes off the computer screen. 

“By and by, Batgirl, I found a Court of Owl assassin lounging in your favourite reading room with a book. She wrote on a piece of paper that she was with you?” Alfred asked in perfectly serene voice, as if finding an undead assassin in one’s home was just the normal order of things.

“Yes, that’s Strix; she works with me on that other team with Black Canary. She is fine, I promise you,” Here Batgirl finally half-turned towards the old butler, shooting him an apologetic glance, “I am sorry I forgot to mention it. She didn’t cause any trouble, did she?”

“She is a lovely young lady,” Alfred replied, “Now then, how goes it? How long would this take?”

“This is an incredibly complex program. I will need at least another hour or two to go through everything and make sure I know how to work it. Actually running the program will take hours if not days.” Batgirl paused for a moment in thought, before adding, “I want to run the program elsewhere, if I can somehow figure out how to solve the power supply problem. When the program is running my location will become traceable; if it must be I rather call down their wrath somewhere not in the Batcave.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, seemingly in disagreement, but he only said, “We will discuss our options when the time comes. Have you thought about how we might contact Master Tim again?”

“Not now, makes no sense to risk it at the moment. After we start running this program I will try contacting Tim again; we will be exposed anyway by then.”

“We are in agreement there.”

Captain Marvel watched them from a distance, fascinated yet even more tentative than before. Alfred and Batgirl were so at ease in the Batcave and in their respective roles, simply settling down and getting to work even though the world was coming apart all around them. The extraordinary power of their foes neither frightened nor distracted them. They worked like well-oiled machines, with a fearless calm that he had never seen before. Those were the people he had come to think of as family, but he wasn’t really a part of this family. Yes, he was cared for and even loved, and he was grateful for it, but he wasn’t a partner the way every other member of the family was. 

He was still in the midst of his pondering when Alfred walked up to him.

“Ah, Captain Marvel,” Alfred coughed, still sounding a touch awkward, which was something considering the old butler’s perpetual serenity, “You mentioned before that the Crime Syndicate has access to Batman’s passcodes and other security measures? Even fingerprints and bio-scans?”

Captain Marvel nodded gravely, “Yes, the Crime Syndicate is essentially a parallel universe version of the Justice League, and there is another you as well, Alfred. Any fingerprint or bio-scan lock from you guys wouldn’t stop them, I don’t think.”

“In that case, is there an alternate version of you, Captain Marvel?”

“Huh?” Captain Marvel seemed to be taken aback and hesitated a couple moments, “Um, I don’t think so; I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

“In that case, if you are amenable to the plan, I would suggest we refit all the security protocols with your biometrics. Of course, if someone of Superman’s power launches a full-scale attack on the manor and the cave, the security will still amount to nothing; the hope is simply that the cave wouldn’t be open to just about anyone casually walking by.”

“Oh! But I… I don’t mean…” Captain Marvel scratched his head and seemed hesitant, “Batman might come back, and… I don’t know if he, or you guys, really would think that’s a good idea, I mean…” Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Batgirl turning around subtly and shooting them a quick glance.

“You should know that we do trust you, completely and absolutely.” Alfred cut in with a soft but firm voice. There was a pregnant pause, before Alfred continued, “You might think we were trying to keep things from you, and you shouldn’t intrude on our secrets, but that was never about not trusting you. You are as much a member of this family as any of us.”

Here Batgirl spun her chair around and stared at the two of them. 

“Please don’t tell me he is Billy.”

Alfred cleared his throat, and Captain Marvel could only shrug.

“Batman is going to kill us,” Batgirl sighed, eyeing Captain Marvel with a dark look, “And you, for that matter of fact. But I guess everything makes sense now. Still, when this is all over we are going to have a long conversation.”

But before Captain Marvel could reply, she turned her chair back and said, “But Alfred is right, we need to reset the security measures at this cave and using your biometrics as you are now is certainly the best idea we have. And...” She paused and glanced at Captain Marvel one more time, as if trying to work out something to say, but in the end she only murmured a “thank you”.  
An unending night still awaited them.


	16. The Battleground

“I already made up my mind,” Batgirl said in a perfectly flat voice while bent over a mass of electronic components no longer recognizable as the constituents of a laptop computer.

“And I must ask you to reconsider, again and again until you actually do, Miss Barbara,” the old butler insisted in a rather exasperated voice, “If running this program makes you a target as you seem to think it would, why would you go anywhere else? The Batcave is probably the safest place there is right now.”

“Batman will be back anytime now,” Batgirl said while plugging new processors into the motherboard, “He will need a cave to come back to, he will need whatever gadgets and machines and contingency plans he is hiding here. I can’t stay here and work, once they realize that someone is hacking their network control from the Batcave, they will take it very seriously indeed and level this place. Batman would kill me for throwing his cave to the wolves. Let me take the fight elsewhere, the farther away from Gotham the better. An inconspicuous location would make me less of a threat and hopefully the Syndicate’s response will be weaker.”

“That’s preposterous, you are infinitely more important than a cave! And even if an inconspicuous location is less threatening, it is still defenseless. Batman would never forgive you for putting your own person in greater danger just to preserve a cave.”

“A cave that is also one of the last few strongholds we have, holding precious resources we can’t afford to lose to the enemies. I wouldn’t risk the cave if I don’t have to, and I don’t in this case. Batman has set up alternative safe houses. I will just make use of one of those; it’s not the same level protection, but it’s something.”

Alfred hesitated for a second, before shaking his head again in objection, “You mean the Clock Tower? It is in the middle of Gotham’s old district, with many residential buildings around. You will put others in grave danger.”

“That is why I am not using the Clock Tower,” Batgirl answered, “I am headed to the Red Mountain. It’s a new development area and people haven’t moved in, that entire area is pretty much empty, and it’s just outside the Greater Gotham area too.” 

Red Mountain was the largest multi-use building in the brand new high-tech park just outside of Gotham, owned by Wayne Technologies of course and the top-floor penthouse had already been outfitted with enough security protections fit for a king. But it was still a far cry from the protection at the Batcave, and certainly not enough to withstand a potential attack from the any member of the Crime Syndicate.

The old butler drew his hand across his face and sighed. He turned and looked at Captain Marvel, who was watching them argue with a thoughtful look on his face. So he asked pointedly, “What think you of this plan, Captain Marvel?”

“Um, what Batgirl said makes a lot of sense,” Captain Marvel shot the old butler an apologetic glance, “Sorry, Alfred, she is right, if the Crime Syndicate notices an attack coming from the Batcave, they will come at us extra hard. I was just thinking how we should go about doing this. Batgirl, what if you work in an alternative universe or a pocket universe?”

The redhead blinked a few times, before saying with a wry grimace, “Right, that’s why they call you the champion of magic. But can I still plug in a cable or receive wi-fi signal in a pocket universe?”  
“Oh!” Captain Marvel scratched his head with a small blush, “Right, probably not. I guess Red Mountain it is. Okay then, you can finish up assembling your computer, I will go draw up a protective ward for the manor, and then we will head off.”

Batgirl started, while the ever calm and serene Alfred visibly jerked his head, but before they could voice their protest Captain Marvel cut in again, saying firmly, “Of course I will go with you, Batgirl; I will keep watch over you until we take down Grid, then we will make plans from there, about how to save Nightwing, that is. And I have a few tricks that might help you speed along.”

“It is too dangerous…” Alfred protested feebly, “You are… I mean, Master William…”

Batgirl too countered, “You would attract too much attention, Captain. I can go with Strix, who is more than capable of keeping us safe.”

“With all due respect to her, she cannot keep you safe if the Crime Syndicate drops by. She should stay here and help guard the Batcave and Alfred. I will go with you,” Captain Marvel paused, before continuing in a lower voice, “That’s why I didn’t tell you guys before, or any member of the League. It makes my job—a job that I have to do—easier if you don’t know. Really, you don’t need to protect me; I need to protect you guys, all of you, that’s the responsibility given to me. You can’t tell me otherwise. I will go set up a few things around the manor; be back in a moment.”

With that he disappeared into the elevator leading up to the manor, not even giving the other two a chance to argue. Batgirl stared after him for a few moments, before turning back to the half-formed computer in front her, once again consumed by the task of putting components together. She did not speak, but there was a watery sheen in her blue eyes. Alfred sat down tiredly, mumbling, “That’s what Damian said to me before he left the cave that night, he said I couldn’t stop him…”

“Alfred!” Batgirl exclaimed, aghast and pale.

Perhaps twenty minutes later Captain Marvel reappeared inside the cave, the family dog Titus trailing his footstep. “I set up two wards, one over the manor and another over the cave; other than us here, Batman and Nightwing are the only one who can get in. Sorry, I can’t make allowance for Tim, having never met him and all. I don’t know how well the wards can stand up to someone like Ultraman, but hopefully better than nothing. And can I borrow Titus for a little magic?”

Alfred blinked, “I beg your pardon?”

“I can enchant Titus, make him a sort of animal avatar; he will be a better guards dog and I will know if anything is seriously wrong here through him,” Captain Marvel explained, “I have a tiger named Tawny at Fawcett City; well okay he isn’t mine, he belongs to the city zoo but he really likes me. I used him as an avatar a couple times to help people or to keep an eye on things. I was thinking of bringing him here, but I don’t know how you feel about having a full-grown Bengal tiger around.”

“Ah, in that case I must say Titus is preferable to a tiger,” Alfred said weakly. The idea was so ludicrously fantastic, he really could not think of anything else to say. 

Captain nodded, before patting Titus’s head. A small web of lightning enveloped the dog, and a moment later a hound twice the size of the already impressive Great Dane emerged, black and glistening, crackling with tiny bolts of electricity, like the mythical Cerberus suddenly sprung from the depths of Hade’s realm. Alfred drew a deep breath and released it slowly. The full extent of Captain Marvel—no, little Billy’s—power and responsibility finally rammed home for the old butler, and strangely he was filled with dread and despair rather than hope. 

“Titus will keep watch over the manor,” Captain Marvel said, before turning to Batgirl with a bolt of strange, shimmering material that somehow materialized in his hands, “And this is for you, Batgirl, a cloak made from the hide of the Nimean Lion. It really is as impregnable as legend says. You should put it on before we head out.” 

Batgirl started, but she quickly stilled her shaking hand and tightened the last screw on her computer. She did not respond, and would not even look at Captain Marvel, instead she turned to Alfred and asked, “Is there a more inconspicuous car I can take?”

"Yes, let me get the key for you,” The old butler murmured. 

Batgirl was busy packing away her equipment and adjusting one of the more normal looking vehicles hiding in the Batcave, preparing to head out. All this while she ignored Captain Marvel, who finally seemed to notice her pallor and watched her silently with a small frown. When she seemed all prepared Captain Marvel stepped up and placed a hand on her arm. “Please, take this cloak and wear it,” He said in an earnest and firm voice, “I can also just wait for you at the Red Mountain if it is easier that way. Don’t be scared; we will make this work. And don’t be scared for me either; I have been doing this for almost a year and I did plow through my share of bad guys.”

Batgirl raised her head and looked at the tall, imposing hero before her, grand and glorious like the statue of an ancient god. She took forever to find the right words, but when she eventually spoke she said, “May I… may I speak to Billy first?”

“Um, I would rather not call down a thunder storm inside a cave. It really would fry everything down here,” Captain Marvel replied with a small laugh, “And you are speaking to me, Billy, I just… look different.”

Batgirl fell silent once more. They remained quiet for so long that eventually Captain Marvel asked with uncertainty, “Should we go? If it makes things easier, do you want me to find my way there on my own and wait for you? Though I think it’s better if I go with you, safer this way.”

“I am sorry,” Batgirl murmured, taking the magic cloak from Captain Marvel and tying it around her shoulders over her own regular cape. It was awkward, but the cloak still managed to stay on. After taking in a deep breath she spoke with apparent effort, “You are right, probably better if we move together. Let’s go then.”

This rarely-used and very inconspicuous Batmobile that looked like nothing more than a black Ford Explorer sailed into Gotham’s night. Normally not a soul would spare this SUV a second glance, but now, in the midst of a dark, powerless, threateningly quiet Gotham city filled to the brim with all of the city’s worst criminals and Arkham’s inmates, such an ordinary vehicle does seem rather out of place. Batgirl made good use of her driving skill and swerved from deserted road onto deserted road, avoiding any and all signs of activity. They reached the utterly empty high-tech park only an hour and some later and settled into the top-floor penthouse of the Red Mountain without anyone being the wiser. Captain Marvel looked around him with wonder. This was not his usual work style, going from hideout to hideout, moving silently in the shadows without anyone seeing. Normally no one can overlook his entrance. 

It did not take Batgirl long to set up what little there is to set up and plunge right into the work. Unfortunately Batman was a few weeks away from installing gas-powered back-up generator here, so the slew of security apparatus was all useless. She did put the penthouse in lockdown mode, with titanium alloy window coverings and doors of triple-reinforced steel sealed tightly. Captain Marvel had set more spells around the penthouse. She had no idea what he did exactly, but she could see threads of green glow sometimes swimming down the wall. It certainly looked magical. 

Thinking of Captain Marvel made Batgirl’s mind wander. Only a few moments of lax attention and the numbers and letters began to flash faster and scream at her, so she quickly returned to the keys and tried to just focus on work. This was a delicate task; she could not be distracted. But how could she not? Unlike her, hidden away in a secret safe house, Captain Marvel was out there zooming across a darkened world, handling this task and that. When she had first tried to contact Tim to no avail Captain Marvel offered to go look at the Teen Titans tower. He came back soon after, reporting sadly that the Titans Tower was empty, and he couldn’t find the Teen Titans anywhere. That particular setback seemed to worry and anger Captain Marvel; he refused to sit still in the penthouse but went off working on a “diversion” for her to ensure the Crime Syndicate would be too distracted to notice a hacker. The idea sounded ominous, something that all but guaranteed recklessness.

And then the lights turned on. 

Batgirl blinked in the sudden flood that washed all darkness away; she felt like a veritable bat caught in the sun. And then she picked up the barely-there hum of electronics as the various devices littered around the penthouse, from sensors to cameras to booby traps, kick into action. She could not believe it, but the power was back on. 

This was the diversion Captain Marvel talked about? But how?! 

Somehow this utterly unexpected gift kicked her into more fervent action. She began typing furiously, putting Batman’s program on overdrive and opening up multiple points of attack, trying to find a workable pathway for at least a limited network centered on Gotham. When she secured a pathway she allowed herself a few minutes away from the all-consuming task of tracking and defeating Grid and hacked Gotham Electricity Transmission Company’s load monitoring system. To her shock she saw an image of chaos, with power welling up at strangest places. It was almost as if Gotham had suddenly gained a distributed generation system, and there were new wind turbines or solar panels of incredible capacity smack in the middle of suburban residential area, sending electricity to the rest of the grid. She blinked a few times, confused beyond words, and decided there was nothing she could do about this. She tried to take her mind off of Captain Marvel and dutifully returned to her own task. 

The lights stayed on for another hour or so, during which Batgirl had made significant headway on gaining access to the network and disseminating copies of a deadly virus at critical nodal points. When the lights turned off she only shrugged and moved on. With the last hour or so of charging, the batteries in her computer would definitely last her through this mission. (That is, if nothing, and no one, gets to her first.) Not long after the lights turned on for the second time Captain Marvel returned for a few minutes. He brought Batgirl another tank of water and some blankets.

“Good to see you have lights here. We actually can dent Grid’s control over the power lines a little,” Captain Marvel said, sounding somewhat satisfied, “I am going back to this now; is there anything you might want with where the power goes? Will it help you somehow? I can try at least.”

“Give ISP centers power, the more the merrier,” Batgirl answered automatically, forgetting to even ask what the ‘we’ Captain Marvel used refers too.

“Alright, we will try.”

“Wait, I…”

Captain Marvel looked at her, waiting patiently for her to finish that sentence, but she shook her head and said nothing. She really didn’t have anything useful to say. She needed to focus, worrying is only counterproductive. 

The hours dragged on. Maybe five or six hours in she noticed Grid tracking her; she only realized when Grid was getting perilously close to her location, but at that point she had access to enough pathways to re-route constantly and lost Grid in the nick of time. Hands trembling slightly, she re-evaluated her situation: powerful as Batman’s program was, it would take at least another four hours for the virus to disseminate widely enough through limited pathways and cut off Grid’s control of the network; from there it would take even more time to actually reach Grid himself and immobilize him. Yet Grid was already on her track. How long did she have?

At the eighth hour Captain Marvel suddenly appeared in the penthouse once more, looking for the first time frazzled and breathing heavily. There was a woman by his side, a dark-haired and grey-eyed beauty who managed to look authoritative despite her petite size. 

“How much more time do you need, Batgirl?” Captain Marvel asked. 

“At least another two hours if we want to take Grid down. What happened, and who is she…” Her voice trailed off in confusion.

“Her name is Areia Glaukos, sorry, no time to explain more. I don’t think we have another two hours,” Captain Marvel answered with a grimace, “Let Ms. Glaukos help you with the computer stuff; she can probably speed it along. I must go. Ultraman was on our tail, but I will keep him and anyone else away from this place, I swear.”

He vanished promptly even as the last word fell.


	17. The Heart of the Sun

Captain Marvel intercepted Ultraman only fifty miles outside of Gotham. Too close for comfort, the red-clad hero thought with a grimace. He flew into Ultraman headlong, grabbed the blue streak almost too fast for human eyes to follow, and threw the villain away from Gotham's general direction with all his strength. He rarely cut loose like this, and should his opponent be any other, he would probably have thrown the poor soul all the way into the Atlantic ocean. But Ultraman tumbled in the air for a couple miles at most, before turning around, once again in control of his own motion. Ultraman growled and rushed towards him like an angry bull. A mighty punch was thrown his way, which Captain Marvel narrowly avoided and returned with a hit packing all the power he could manage. He actually hit Ultraman. Except hitting Ultraman was like hitting—well, saying it was like hitting Superman really did not say much; it was certainly unlike hitting any substance known to men, something only magic could compare.

After the first exchange both of them paused momentarily, eyeing each other and measuring their relative strength. Captain Marvel knew he was in for it this time. This was the most powerful and most dangerous enemy he had ever known, as powerful as Superman but completely evil, there was no misunderstanding he could explain away, no brainwashing magic to undo. He could only triumph using force and force alone.

Ultraman sneered at him, "I just put down the black one, now the red one shows up again. What is this, you guys have a rainbow platoon?"

"Black one?" Captain Marvel was surprised, "You fought Black Adam?"

Ultraman barked, "I did not fight him, fool, I slaughtered him!"

Captain Marvel's clenched his teeth. Black Adam was indeed a ruthless villain so hell bent on vengeance that he turned away from all goodness in life, but he was still better than this Ultraman; for vengeance, however misguided, at least stems from a sense of justice, but Ultraman was nothing more than overwrought egoism and desire to harm. So Captain Marvel's only response to Ultraman's gloating was a mighty roar and a punch to the face.

They fought furiously, all fists and elbows and knees to the gut, like a caveman wrestling a bear. Neither was too accustomed to encountering enemies of equal strength, and neither had any grace or precision, only brute force—in their case, a lot of brute force. Captain Marvel was trying his best to draw the battle field away from populated areas and into the empty parks and farms, but it was a mightily difficult task given his enemy. When even Captain Marvel was feeling rather short of breath and in pain (he could not speak for his enemy, who looked to be either panting or fuming, or maybe both), the clouds overhead suddenly dispersed.

It was morning, and a bright, fresh sun had risen over them, shining down upon an Earth fallen into darkness. Ultraman seemed distracted; he squinted and looked up at the sky with an expression akin to hatred. This momentary distraction allowed Captain Marvel to land a punch square in his chest. Ultraman's hiss sounded extra loud, almost like a groan, and he sailed backward for a time longer than usual before righting himself.

Ultraman doesn't like the sun? Captain Marvel rushed forward in a blink and gripped Ultraman's cape. He soared up like a rocket, a breath later he was already on his way out of Earth's atmosphere and flying towards the sun. But he was stopped short when Ultraman grabbed his leg and with a furious scream threw him back towards Earth. That throw did not feel a motion from a weakened Kryptonian. Captain Marvel found himself dropping like stone, almost as if the ability to fly had deserted him. Before he could even recover from the tumble, Ultraman's foot connected with his chest, knocking all the air from his lungs and sending him hurtling downward even faster.  
The best Captain Marvel could manage was crash land in a large park instead of the suburban sprawl not far from it. The impact fell innumerable tree and created a crater the size of a football field. When he clambered up amidst the dust storm he saw Ultraman hovering right above him, looking down at him like a deity looking down at a measly insect. The villain laughed coldly and said, "What do you take me to be? I heard your so-called Superman pretty much drops dead when kryptonite is around. Is that what you expect of me too? That I would drop dead or turn to stone now that the sun is out? Don't be ridiculous. I will even admit that the sun stings me, but we are not anywhere close enough to the sun for a weakling like you to use that against me. Even at noon in August I can still pummel you into the ground."

At the mention of Superman fury surged through Captain Marvel like never before. Look at what this faux-Kryptonian and his co-conspirators did to Superman! The noblest and greatest of Earth's hero, weakened, poisoned, and turned into a killing machine, all because of the Crime Syndicate! And the rest of the Justice League, his friends and allies, were still trapped in a strange prison, and his own father missing in the chaos… The desperation of this whole situation gave him a new burst of strength, welling up and pouring out as he straightened and roared. He clapped his hands together and a bolt of lightning shot upward. Ultraman obviously did not expect this, and the lightning bolt struck him square in the chest, sending him tumbling back like a shot bird.

While Ultraman was thrown off for a few moments, Captain Marvel hastily began tracing runes on the ground with his foot. This was not something he would normally do—in fact, he had never tried casting in the midst of a fist fight before—but then again then Ultraman was definitely not a normal enemy. He was not even two thirds done when Ultraman interrupted with a punch that he barely avoided. They wrestled close quarters for another long bout, until Captain Marvel called "Shazam!" A lightning storm more powerful than anything nature could ever produce washed over Ultraman and beat him back once more.

Captain Marvel jumped back to tracing runes into the ground. In times like this he wished he truly had the speed of Flash; if he could write runes as fast as he could run or fly, casting in the middle of a fist fight would have been a much better idea. He barely finished the last stroke when a recovered Ultraman slammed into him once more, a hand locked on his neck.

"I am so tired of your lot and your pathetic words!" Ultraman thundered, "You cannot defeat me with words, magical or whatever!"  
Ultraman's grip was so strong, even Captain Marvel wondered for a moment if that hand was actually going to crush his trachea. Despite the blinding pain he had never felt before, Captain Marvel dug his fists into Ultraman's side and with all his strength threw Ultraman off.

"I have a few even better words for you," Captain Marvel said, voice raw and barely there.

With another bolt of lightning, the ground beneath their feet began to glow. Brilliant golden light traced the outline of rows upon rows of esoteric runes, and a tingling sense of power rushed forth like a sword pulling from its sheath. Captain Marvel murmured something inaudible, and as if answering his words, an unseen horse neighed in the distance. The runes on the ground glowed brighter, and from the light a golden warhorse tall as a tank and armored with white-gold flame galloped forth. Everything around them suddenly burst into flame, the air itself was burning, and the warhorse stood at the center of the fire like destruction itself taken physical form.

The warhorse charged towards Ultraman, who grabbed the horse's neck and tried to wrestle the beast to the ground. But for some reason the all-powerful Ultraman could not even subdue a horse. A few moments later he had to let go and retreat from the beast, screaming in pain. "What the hell is this?!" Ultraman shouted out.

"His name is Aethon, the sun-steed of Apollo," Captain Marvel answered, "I might not be powerful enough to drag you all the way to the sun, but I can always bring you a piece of the sun itself."

The horse's neighing sounded approving; he raised his front hooves and kicked towards Ultraman. It was a motion common to all horses, but no other horse had the destructive power of Apollo's divine steed. Ultraman screamed again and went down on his knees; he truly seemed weakened by the flaming sun-horse. Captain Marvel breathed a small sigh of relief, and was pondering the best way to contain Ultraman, when Ultraman shouted to someone, "I know you are watching, damn it! Do something now! I don't care what you are scheming, but you won't get a penny's worth if I go down now!"

Captain Marvel started.

He did not hear the rumble of the jet engine until it was too late, until bombs exploded all around him. For a split second Captain Marvel wondered why anyone would drop bombs on a sea of flame, and then sounds of explosion rocked the burning woods, while shrapnel flew about like it was raining bullets. Fire was dying all around them, and it was uncommonly cold, milky gas soon enveloped the entire devastated park. More "bombs" dropped from the sky, putting out fire wherever they landed. Aethon's neighing now sounded panicked and in pain.

Liquid nitrogen.

Someone just dropped canister after canister of liquid nitrogen over them. It certainly proved useful, creating intense explosions, putting out fire, and the cold was a powerful weapon against the sun-horse. You have got to be kidding me, Captain Marvel thought grimly. What crazy person carries liquid nitrogen around, on a jet and ready to be deployed like bombs nonetheless? Not even Batman would do something so completely outlandish! Could it be, their version of the Batman?

The fire was all but cleared now, only small blooms of flame here and there. The glorious sun-horse now looked thoroughly spooked, nostrils flaring. Just then there was a streak of sparkling green dropping from the sky as well. With as much grace as a hungry dog Ultraman leaped up and caught the green spark in his hand—it was a kryptonite rock as big as Ultraman's fist. The villain's eyes glowed with twisted glee; he crushed the kryptonite to dust and breathed it in hungrily. All this while Captain Marvel simply stared at his enemy, mouth hanging agape. He had guessed that Ultraman did not have the same kryptonite weakness as Superman, but never in a million years could he have imagined Ultraman being so… drug-addict like in his dependence on kryptonite.

"You think you can put me down with a bloody horse?" The now satisfied and strengthened Ultraman turned back to Captain Marvel and sneered, "It's pathetic you need an animal to fight for you. Let me show you what true power is."

True to his words, Ultraman was putting on a display. He did not come at Captain Marvel, rather the villain charged straight at the sun-horse. Aethon neighed loudly once more and began charging as well. The great steed of the sun was diminished, but still powerful. Just as in their first clash, Ultraman grabbed the horse's burning neck and this time he brought the beast down and smashed the horse's enormous head into the ground. Aethon's head created a sizzling hole on the browned earth, and he screamed a terrible long shriek that could shatter glass and ear drums a like. But even amidst that screech the sickening sound of bones snapping popped out loud and clear.

"No, Aethon!"

Captain Marvel finally woke from his stupor. His eyes were glowing red now, and he rushed towards his enemy with a furious roar that could be heard all the way in Gotham City. He threw Ultraman away from the dying horse with every ounce of his strength, but still Ultraman bounced back in the blink of an eye. He only had enough time to send the great steed back whence it came, before Ultraman was standing only a few feet away from him once more.

Ultraman did not seem interested in attacking right away; rather he was having a conversation with someone else. "What?" He shouted with plenty of annoyance, "How could Grid be so useless! Well give me the coordinates now!"

Grid? Captain Marvel's heart sank a little further. So Batgirl's plan was exposed?

Indeed, Ultraman gave him a haughty, cold laugh and said, "So that's why you came charging at me. Hiding a little rat in Gotham, aren't you? That's how you hope to win? Idiot, just like the rest of your lot! You know what, since you have entertained me for so long, I will be nice and let you watch me kill your little rat."

"No!"

Captain Marvel chased after Ultraman, and the next moment they were right above the Red Mountain.

"Watch," Ultraman gloated, before flying straight into the building. He came out the other side of the building, in a shower of broken glass and concrete shards, laughing uproariously all the while.

The building shook to its very core but managed to stay standing. A few strands of green glow swam down the building's walls. So far excellent engineering and magic kept this building together, but Ultraman only had to ram it a couple more times, and it would certainly come crumbling down like a house of cards.

"No, no, no!"

Captain Marvel screamed and rushed towards Ultraman, grabbing the villain in a choke hold. He tried to pull Ultraman away from the Red Mountain, but only a couple miles out he got an elbow in the gut, and he let go almost involuntarily. Pushing aside all the pains, he grabbed Ultraman's cape once again. They struggled mightily, but eventually Ultraman gained the upper hand and tossed Captain Marvel towards the building. Try as he might, Captain Marvel could not stop himself from crashing into the Red Mountain, breaking god knows how many load bearing walls in his uncontrolled spin into the building.

When he rushed back outside Ultraman was laughing, malicious glee filling his evil eyes. "Hey, it's still standing, I am impressed," Ultraman said, "Is there more so-called 'magic' on this building? But it's going to come down, you know that, right?"

"No it's not, this building is going to stand right here," Captain Marvel spat out vehemently, "It will stand, it will."

He rushed forward and grabbed Ultraman in a choke hold once more. This time he simply refused to let go, even when Ultraman crashed them both into the building. A simple spell, this will only take a second at the very most—and then the Nimean dagger flashed in his hand, glittering bright like a star.

"O mightiest blade," Captain Marvel screamed, "Take us to the sun!"

The fabric of space-time tore open and swallowed them both whole.

Only a few minutes after the two of them had vanished, a black jet appeared overhead. It circled Red Mountain a couple times, and then fired two missiles into the base of the building. A string of explosions and crashes roared like thunder, after which there were a few minutes of utter silence, and then the entire building came crumbling down.


	18. The Final Stand

Batgirl blinked a few times after Captain Marvel had vanished. She looked at the woman who had just dropped into her hideout, the impeccable calm and the steely eyes and the warrior’s stance, and still she could not decipher anything. 

“If you must know, I am our mutual friend’s school teacher, and call me Areia,” The dark-haired woman said, “And please, you must hurry, we don’t have much time. Tell me how far along you are and what the difficulties are.”

So this woman knew Captain Marvel’s true identity? A secret not even known to any member of the Justice League before? Pushing aside all her questions and doubts, Batgirl answered promptly, “I am still barred from accessing one major Internet service provider’s network. The only two entry points I can find are firewall protected, and Batman’s program can’t get past it, nor can I manually. That means an entire sector of the Internet is protected against my virus, and I can’t reach Grid either.”

“There is no alternative point of entry? How is that possible for a major ISP?”

“I think Grid must have rewritten that entire network, unknown protocols and everything. He only left himself a door so he can still access other networks from his secure position.”

“There is no such thing as a perfect castle,” Areia said with a smile, brief but utterly confident, as if breaking down the perfect door designed by a cybernetic super intelligence was no more than baking a cake, “Alright, let’s get your virus past that firewall first.” 

After taking a thorough look at the screen full of codes for a few minutes, she put a hand on Batgirl’s computer. She did not type anything, but already the numbers and letters on the screen began to shift rapidly. Areia stared at the screen intently, almost as if trying to absorb the symbols right off the screen. After another five minutes or so she drew a deep breath and murmured, “Indeed, what a firewall, but I can get through it; give me fifteen minutes.”

She actually did some typing this time, though most of the time she was still only staring at the screen with a hand barely touching the computer and blue-white sparks dancing at her fingertips. And just as she claimed, fifteen minutes later she sighed again, drew a hand across her white brow and said, “Alright, I moved the virus past the wall. That virus can also set up extra allowable ports on any secured network, can it not? Ah yes.” A pause, and then, “I have established a few encrypted tunnels for safe passage. What now? How do we attack Grid? I apologize, I am less of a help when there is no specific task for me to attend to.”

“Allow me,” Batgirl said and re-settled in front of her computer, typing furiously. Now that she has a secure pathway into Grid’s personal domain, she felt a wave of elation and confidence never felt before. It was only a matter of time before she pin down Grid’s digital presence. She did not forget to ask, “How did you ever get past that firewall?”

Areia shrugged and said, “Just a matter of cutting down the virus program into small enough packets and satisfying all restriction rule sets.”

“I tried that as well,” Batgirl commented with a self-deprecating laugh, “But I couldn’t even find all the rule sets of that firewall, and the smallest packet size I could manage was still too big. I guess that’s the difference between proficient and a true genius.”

Areia laughed as well and answered, “Please don’t sell yourself short, Batgirl. In truth I cheated. You see, I have a unique weapon: I can manipulate any and all electromagnetic presence. I am a lot less proficient at computing languages than you would believe; I am simply better at decoding the language of electricity itself.”

Batgirl afforded herself the brief second to take another look at the dark-haired woman, before exclaiming with wonder, “So it was you. You are the one who made Gotham look like it had sprung a wind farm in the middle of suburbia!”

Areia nodded, “Captain Marvel and I flew all around the Northeast and the Midwest, kicking power plants into gear and sometimes just spiking power in the middle of nowhere. It was good distraction, and hopefully it was also useful to the people out there. In truth Captain Marvel provided the bulk of the power, I only offered a little more control so he didn’t fry the entire grid. That kind of output would have worn me out a long time ago.”

At the mention of Captain Marvel Batgirl’s face fell. She murmured, “I wonder if he is alright. If he is facing Ultraman out there, I …”

“Don’t think about him out there,” Areia cut her off firmly, “The best aid we can give him is the defeat of Grid, as soon as possible.”

Batgirl nodded and focused on her task once again. She barely worked for ten minutes in silence, when a deafening crash rocked the entirely building. The walls and floor shook violently, but amazingly nothing fell from the ceiling, probably held sturdy by whatever magic glowing from the walls. The enchanted tiger that had curled up quietly in the corner before now stood up, unfurling its massive body and growling. Batgirl’s fingers paused for one second only before she resumed typing.

“I guess Ultraman is here,” Areia turned towards the window, even though the tightly sealed titanium covering left nothing to be seen. 

“I located Grid,” Batgirl said, “Batman’s virus has done some good work, but Grid’s own firewall still looks impenetrable. He is trying to get me too, so I can’t stay at one location for too long. This hide-and-seek might go on for a while; it’s anybody’s game.”

“Can you create a unidirectional link that only sends to Grid’s location? Your own system would be secure then.”

“No, Grid is constantly changing location, if I want to be able to keep up with him, I have to receive and stay vulnerable. Do you want to take a look if you can do something to his firewall?”  
Just then a second crash shook the building, this time nearly making Areia lose her balance. The two women looked at each, and then Areia asked, “What networking device are you using on this computer? If the entire building drops on us do you think you can still work? I can keep this room generally intact for sure, but I can’t hold up the rest of the building.”

Batgirl bit her lip, before answering quietly, “The modem and cable have to be intact. I don’t have the same control of pathways with the mobile network.”

“I suppose then the best solution is to finish this before the building comes down, or at least try. No more time for hide-and-seek; let me see if I can get past Grid’s firewall,” Areia said, digging out a small tablet computer from her coat and passing it to Batgirl, “Here, take this, I don’t know what you can do with such measly computing power, but I guess that’s the only last resort we have.”

Batgirl nodded, taking the tablet and turning it on. “Back-up is back-up,” She muttered.

Electricity crackled and sparks jumped in the air as Areia unleashed her full power upon Grid’s firewall, pounding on the secured gateway with a torrent of data, trying to find a way in. Sometime in the middle of her effort she suddenly started, looking up from the computer screen and staring at the Bengal tiger growling in a corner of the room; she seemed shocked and almost frightened. 

“What?” Batgirl raised her head from the back-up project nervously. 

“No…nothing,” the dark-haired woman replied quietly.

But Batgirl saw Areia’s hand balling into a fist, and her eyes almost seemed to glow white. Whatever it was, certainly it wasn’t nothing; something, some event, it empowered her with an extra shot of fury. Batgirl forgot about her own work for a while and just stared at this strange woman before her. A few minutes later Areia breathed out and drew back her hand shakily. 

“I got in, gave Grid’s system a repeat all received information loop command, and Batman’s virus should finish up the rest. I guess you can count the Grid gone,” Here Areia’s trembling voice became no more than a whisper, “But so is he. He is gone too.”

Batgirl blinked, then, “What are you talking about?”

Areia did not answer. Instead two more thunderous bangs rocked their world, before the ceiling promptly dropped on top of them. Areia said something about keeping the room intact before, but she seemed to forget all about it now, and for a moment it looked like they would be both crushed by the ceiling. At the last moment Batgirl remembered Captain Marvel’s parting gift and threw the strange cloak over both of them. Whatever this Nimean cloak was, it certainly lived up to its mythical name. Curled up between the cloak and the floor, they somehow found a secure little corner in a crumbling world. When everything eventually quieted down they were laying beneath heaven knows how many tons of rubble, but at least they were unscathed. 

“He gave you the Nimean cloak,” Areia murmured, “Good, quick thinking on your part.”

Batgirl blinked a few times, before asking with a nervousness she did not quite understand herself, “What did you say before the building came down? Who is gone? What were you talking about?”

But Areia did not answer. Instead she said, “Will you let me sleep for a while? Breaking Grid’s firewall tapped all my strength, I don’t think I can stay awake for much longer anyway. Let me rest for a while, then I can get us out of here.” 

With that Areia simply closed her eyes and fell silent. She actually looked fast asleep, though heaven knows how she could possibly fall sleep like this, while the world was falling apart, buried under a mountain of rubble, protected only by a mythical cloak. Batgirl stared at this strange woman again, completely at a loss. Eventually Batgirl released a tired sigh and wondered for a moment if she should sleep for a while too. But, who was she kidding? She could never sleep in a situation like this, she was simply too tense. This was perhaps the most agonizing hour Batgirl had ever spent, before Areia finally opened her eyes. Still this strange woman did not want to answer Batgirl’s questions.

“I will try to dig us out of here,” She said quietly, “This is a steel frame building so most heavy pieces should contain enough metal for me to move. It’s more than likely that I will cause more cave-ins, but we should be fine under the Nimean cloak.” 

It took another good half an hour before the two women emerged from the rubbles. They clambered up shakily and looked around at the utter destruction under the now bright mid-morning sun. Batgirl almost shivered; her cowl and cape had rarely seen the light of day before, she shouldn’t be Batgirl at this hour. 

Beside her Areia sighed. “It’s almost over,” She murmured in a barely audible voice, “Grid is down, and Ultraman is probably taken care of, quite permanently. The rest of you heroes should be able to handle this on your own. I must go. It’s been a long night, too long…”

She turned and tried to leave, but Batgirl gripped her arm. “No, you haven’t answered my questions yet,” Batgirl said, “You said ‘he is gone’. Who? And how did you know that Ultraman is taken care of? What are you talking about and what do you know? Tell me now!”

Areia looked back her for a long time without saying anything, but seeing Batgirl was determined to wait for an answer she started slowly, “Captain Marvel and I, we know each other because he has inherited a power under my guardianship.” With that she raised her hand and flicked her wrist; a bolt of charges sped away from her palm, brightening the already gloriously bright day, until it dissipated in the air. 

“Zeus’s lightning bolt, his greatest weapon, and it is not given to just anyone,” Areia continued, “I am not what I was once, but I still hold the lightning bolt and I am its guardian. As soon as the old wizard Shazam gave Captain Marvel his power I knew a new potential wielder of the lightning has emerged, and that was how I found him. The old wizard’s choice was surprising to me, and I thought perhaps the old dolt failed again and gave power to yet another unsuitable candidate, but Captain Marvel proved to be more than deserving. Eventually I gave him the full rightful use of the lightning bolt. By virtue of our shared power, I can always sense exactly where and how he is, even when he appears to be no more than a small boy.”

Here Areia stopped and looked at Batgirl with that steady grey gaze of hers. Do you really want me to say it? She seemed to be asking without words. 

“And now you sense that he is… he is…” Batgirl did not realize that she was growing pale, “Is that what you are trying to say? You can’t possibly expect me to believe that. How would that even happen? And seriously, who are you exactly?”

Areia only nodded and sighed tiredly, “I don’t suppose you would believe me. I am sorry, but I should go. There might be ways to bring him back yet, at least I have to try.”

“Wait!”

A bolt of charges crackled by Batgirl’s ear as an answer. “Please, leave me be for now,” Areia’s voice sounded faint, for she was rather far away now, “You don’t believe me yet, and you still have a world to save.”

Batgirl stood there and stared while Areia disappeared into the distance. She thought perhaps she should go after this strange woman, but in the end she stood there still like a dead tree in the middle of a field of ruin. Even if she chased after Areia, what then? More explanations that she could not possibly understand or believe? And no, of course Captain Marvel is not gone, she told herself, he may have fought a difficult battle, but nothing suggests he lost that battle. 

Batgirl looked at the wreckage around her once more and shivered uncontrollably. It was growing cold despite the bright sun overhead. Standing here alone in the midst of the ruin, everything suddenly felt so unreal. How did evil overtake them so easily and so absolutely, and how did everything spiral out of control so fast? It was almost unbelievable. But Areia was at least right about one thing: she still had a world to save, and there was no time to lose. Pulling her cape and cloak close to her body, she started walking away from the field of rubble.


	19. The Ruins

Batman stood there, tense and taut like drawn bowstring, staring at the otherworldly version of himself. Owlman was perhaps the most dangerous opponent he had ever faced, an astounding strategist who was always a dozen steps ahead in the game, manipulative and obsessive, capable of turning anything and everything into a weapon, including Batman’s own staunchest ally—Dick Grayson. But that proved to be Owlman’s downfall, for if there was one thing in this wide universe that can never be truly controlled, it was the human will. Dick Grayson might be manipulated and drugged to the edge of his sanity, but he would never fail his family. 

“It seems wherever I may be, Dick Grayson will be my downfall,” Owlman glanced at the battered and bloody young man in the corner, curled up in Batgirl’s arms. 

“So what will it be now? You run back to your dead world like the rest of you crew and I blow up the key for good, or you stay here for your judgment.”

Owlman gave his alternate universe brother a look. “You should know I would not stay here. I am still standing before you right now simply because I wanted to talk to you.” He paused for a while, before saying, “Brother, I have always wanted to do everything I do with you at my side. If only you weren’t such a coward and turned back from me at the last moment.”

“I am not your brother,” Batman replied coldly, “And don’t bother, your tricks don’t work on me.”  
Owlman ignored his declaration and went on, “Sometimes I envy you, brother mine. I had no one except Alfred and Dick. Barbara was an uncontrollable little harpy, in the end I had to get rid of her. Ha, yours does look much tamer, nearly housebroken I’d say. That’s good.”

“How dare you!” Batman growled, “She is ten times the human being you will ever be.”

“And you have more children, don’t you? More little boys that crowd at your feet, looking up at you like a father figure and ready to do your bidding. Though for that reason I pity you too. Your little boys come and go; they break so very easily when they are small, don’t they?”

Batman could feel a sudden outpouring of fury setting every drop of his blood on fire. Calm down, he told himself, you will fall right into the trap if you get angry now. But in any case why was he standing here and listening to this madman talk? He should just get on with it.

But before he could move, Owlman spoke again. “Alfred told me a funny story, about your youngest and who he really is,” The villain said, “By and by, you were back at your home a few times since escaping us. Did you not notice anyone missing?”

Batman froze. His youngest, that madman was talking about Billy? How could the little boy have anything to do with all of this, unless… “Are you threatening me with my son?” He barked out, voice falling into a dangerous low pitch. 

“Not at all,” Replied Owlman swiftly, “Only offering you some answers. Are you not at least curious how the greatest among us was defeated? If Ultraman were still here, do you really think you ragtag half-strength team could really get anywhere? A member of your League sacrificed himself for you all, and every single one of you is still utterly oblivious.”

What? Batman stayed silent and did not let his confusion show, but for the life of him he could not understand why Owlman would suddenly start talking about Ultraman again. And which member of the League was Owlman talking about?

“Here you go, recordings from my jet that shows how that fight between Ultraman and your Captain Marvel went down. And one more,” Owlman tossed over a couple gadgets, “The second recording comes from Alfred with a personal greeting, it was done in your cave too. You couldn’t figure out Captain Marvel’s weakness, but Alfred certainly did. Electric current at five thousand amps or higher, a voltage as high as you can manage, generated by a device carrying a decent curse that drains magic, and Captain Marvel will change back to his true, vulnerable form—that of your youngest. William Joseph Batson,” A long pause here, and then Owlman murmured with malicious glee, “Wayne.”

That was the last word Owlman said, before he disappeared behind the vanishing portal between worlds, returned to his own cursed and dying world, never to be seen again. 

Batman stood rooted for a good five minutes, but then turned with a swish of his tattered cape. He knelt down in front of Nightwing and Batgirl and gave his surrogate children a small but encouraging nod. “Here, let me carry him,” Batman said, “Let’s go home.”

Once the Batplane was set for Gotham on autopilot, and once he made sure Nightwing’s injuries were not critical and Batgirl was taking care of him, Batman began watching the recordings Owlman gave him. He watched both clips three times, and somehow managed to maintain perfect calm even when he saw Captain Marvel shrink back into a helpless young Billy on screen. How did the alternate universe Alfred manage to keep a recording of Captain Marvel’s transformation anyway? Batman found himself wondering. That electric surge should have killed every device. That was indeed some impressive technology.

Eventually Batgirl noticed him staring at a screen and came to stand beside him. She asked, “What are you watching over there? Is there anything wrong?”

“Owlman gave me a recording of the fight between Ultraman and Captain Marvel,” Batman said flatly, “That was the reason we won. We owe Captain Marvel a debt we could never repay.”

All blood drained from Batgirl’s face in an instant; even with her cowl on it was easy to tell just how pale she became. “What, what happened?” She asked in a strangled voice. 

“It seems like Captain Marvel transported them both to the sun, that’s what I gathered from their exchange,” Batman did not look at her, only asked, “Alfred said something about you going into the field with Captain Marvel. When did you two split up? Do you know anything else about this fight?”

“Captain Marvel was protecting me while I worked on the virus to take down Grid,” Batgirl said in a barely audible whisper, “I didn’t see the fight, but I heard some of it from inside the building, I…” She sounded like she was about to cry. 

Batman turned around slowly until he was staring at her straight in the eyes. “So you do know who Captain Marvel really is,” Batman intoned. 

“He told me his true identity. But… but I can’t believe it, I don’t believe it! It is just impossible; I haven’t seen it with my own eyes…”

“I have,” Batman interrupted her and sidestepped to show her the screen. The scene of Captain Marvel transforming back into the not-yet-eleven Billy Batson in a sea of crackling electricity was replaying over and over again. 

Batgirl stumbled to her knees, but Batman turned back. He said with an unnatural calm, “Of course, this recording came from Owlman, so it is not impossible he faked it to mess with my head. And we do not know whether Captain Marvel can stand the heat of the sun. Perhaps a trip there is nothing to him.”

If that were the case, where was he now? It has been three days since anyone last seen Captain Marvel. Why would he abandon those he cared so deeply for, in the midst of this terrible war, when they needed him the most?

The answers to these unsaid questions were plain, but neither Batman nor Batgirl spoke. Just then Nightwing appeared, staggering towards the front of the plane. “What are you two discussing?” He asked, “What is going on?”

Batman turned off the screen immediately and replied, “Nothing. Get back there and lie down; we are over Gotham now, almost home. Alfred will patch you up properly.” His voice was still perfectly flat and just like his normal self, not a soul would suspect anything being wrong. 

“Listen, Batman, I can’t go back there with you,” Nightwing said with a difficult shake of his head, “I just can’t be in Gotham right now. If I were to be seen with Bruce Wayne, with any one of you, you would all be compromised. I have… I have to find somewhere else, get away, distract them...” He swayed on his feet, still weak from his injuries.

“What you need right now is medical attention,” Batman said, “Barbara, make him lie down. I need to land this plane.” That was the rare moment telling everyone that Batman was indeed not fine; normally he would never let a real name slip while in the field, even when it seemed perfectly safe to do so. 

“I am sorry my carelessness landed us in this mess, but I can’t be in Gotham, nor Chicago, nor any place near our allies… Even if not right this moment, eventually, I will have to go, I must disappear…” Nightwing’s voice trailed off in a daze, but his comment was surprisingly coherent, ringing with an irrefutable logic. 

Batman did not speak, but of course he knew better than anyone else that Nightwing was right.   
The war had been won, but just how many funerals and farewells trailed in its wake? Gotham lies in ruins, controlled by Bane and his cronies; Dick was exposed to the world, now destined to be hunted by law enforcement and criminals alike; Tim was still lost in the time stream, a brief contact aside no one knew exactly where he was and when he would return. 

And Billy, his youngest child, a son he had just recovered a little more than a month ago, was probably dead. There was not even a body for him this time. 

Under the cover of the night the Batplane descended smoothly like a silent bird of prey. It landed in a hidden airstrip in some unnamed private property and then promptly vanished underground. If anyone saw it, it would seem nothing out of the ordinary now, indeed Batman and his disappearing acts all but heralded the return to normalcy.   
But there really was no normal left. 

An apprehensive Alfred and an empty manor welcomed them home. Batman did not ask why his ten-year-old son was not home. After drugging Nightwing to sleep and refitting Batcave’s security measures, Batman exchanged his tattered cape and cowl for a fresh set. 

Barbara gave him an incredulous and startled look, as if he were mad. “You can’t possibly be thinking about going out there right this moment…”

“I have no plan to let Bane run my City,” Batman intoned, “And you should go home, Barbara, go to your father. The GCPD is overwhelmed and your father needs you, either as Barbara or as Batgirl, up to you.”

Barbara stared at him for a long time, before saying, “You need help too if you plan to go out there and challenge Bane.”

“I can handle Bane” was the uncompromising reply. 

“Bruce, please…” 

Barbara sounded like she was begging, but Batman cut her off and repeated, “Go to your father, Barbara. Goddamn it, he is your father.”

Silently and slowly Barbara covered her face with her cowl once more. It would be Batgirl backing up GCPD’s commissioner today, not a daughter helping out her father. Barbara never did have this obsessive compulsion that pushed Bruce Wayne ever onward, but she took her responsibility very seriously, and she was always particularly good at swallowing her own pains for the people of Gotham. Right now she looked resolute as ever, yet also unusually vulnerable.

“Just make sure you come back,” She murmured in a shaky voice, “Please don’t push me away, Bruce, not this time. I need you too, now more than ever.”


	20. Rememberance

When Billy Batson came to, he found himself standing on the bank of a great river. The river was so wide, he could barely see the other side, only faint shadows shifting. The water was dark and murky, and under a lead grey sky the river was positively evil looking. 

Er, what?

Billy blinked a few times and took a deep breath, before looking around. The river bank was crowded, full of people shuffling and milling about restlessly. All those people looked strange, grey and drab and indistinct, almost as if unreal. Even as Billy wrecked his brain trying to remember exactly what happened, he heard the sound of waves breaking open, then the fog horn of a great ship. The people on the river bank began to form into messy lines while grumbling and muttering. So Billy ended up being a part of line-up as well, even though he had no idea why. 

Someone was shouting from far up ahead, “Get in line, get in line, boarding begins shortly! Have your ticket out! If you have no ticket, have your most valued possession in hand! No fare no boarding, no exception!”

“Ticket? What ticket?” Billy murmured, utterly confused. 

“Check your pocket, my boy, you should have one,” A gentle looking old lady ahead of him said with a kind voice, “Everyone who had a proper burial would have a ticket automatically generated.”

“Uh, okay, let me check…” 

Billy stuck his hands in his empty pockets, but froze mid-motion and gasped, and not because he didn’t have a ticket. Wait, burial? At the proper key word memories rushed back like a flood. Right, the invasion by the Crime Syndicate, trying to take down Grid, that fight with Ultraman, and then… He threw himself into the sun’s core. Right.

“You really don’t have a ticket? Oh you poor sweetheart.” The old lady looked at him with pity and even gave him a hug, before continuing, “Don’t worry, sweet, I am sure there are people up there who loved you; it must be a terrible accident that they couldn’t offer you a proper burial. Check your pockets again, you must have something to pay for the fare, a gadget, a toy, or something.”  
Here someone interrupted, speaking in a snarky voice, “Unless you don’t, then you might be stuck on this side of the river for a while.” 

Billy spun around and found himself staring at a face that looked so much like his own that he couldn’t help but jump backward. A boy with black hair and blue eyes, probably ten or eleven years old, stood right in front of him. Billy stared for a few moments, and then tentatively waved his hand. Seeing that the other boy didn’t wave back he released a sigh of relief. 

“Good, I thought I was looking at a mirror or losing my mind or something,” Billy murmured. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” The mirror-image boy bit back sharply with a severe frown, “We don’t look that much alike; you are much too pale and too weak. In any case, given how many people come by, it’s not that unusual to find someone who look a bit like yourself. Speaking of which, do you have something to pay for that ship or not?”

Billy noticed that line of people starting to move. The ship had docked, and someone was shouting up ahead, “All aboard! All aboard!”

Billy searched himself up and down and of course he found nothing, not even a penny. He sighed dejectedly and said, “I guess I won’t be getting on that ship, not that unexpected.”

“Good, you can keep me company,” Said the mirror-image boy, almost smugly, “You don’t often find someone who can’t pay for the ride across the river, especially a kid. I thought… Actually, I don’t know why people like us don’t have anything to pay with.”

“Probably because our remains didn’t get the proper treatment,” Billy said distractedly. 

The other boy gave him a strange look and asked, “How would you know that?”

“What? Oh, I was into myth stories for a while, and I read it in books,” Billy shrugged, “You need to have a proper funeral, or at least your remains have to be collected properly, in order to gain passage into afterlife. Otherwise you wander the bank of Acheron for a hundred years before you are admitted to the realm of the dead. Well, assuming that’s where we are, right? By the river Acheron?” Billy did not have Captain Marvel’s vast store of knowledge, but morbid trivia information like this tends to stick.

The other boy’s face fell and he murmured, “Why would father not even give me a proper funeral? Unless he…And the others…”

Upon seeing his companion’s darkened expression Billy could not help but feel sympathetic. He said quietly, “Hey, it’s okay, I am sure your father and your family are fine. It’s been a little, well, hectic up there, alien invasion type of hectic. But the last I know things are getting better. So it will work out, I am sure.”

“Alien invasion, really.”

“Okay I know it sounds crazy, but I mean it happened before right? Like the time when the Justice League first showed up,” Billy went on, not noticing the other boy hardly needed any convincing, “But anyway, it’s really looking better as far as I know; I think we will win.”

The other boy said with a sharp turn of his head, “You don’t have to console me, I am not a child. In fact, I am probably older than you. And what happened to you? What blocked your passage into the afterlife?”

Billy’s face twisted into a wry look of exasperation, and he murmured in reply, “Yeah, that’s a long story. I kinda... Melted?” Billy was not well-read enough to know that the proper term would be “ionized”.

“Melted? You mean died in a fire?”

“Something like that, I guess,” Billy sighed, “Hey, can we not talk about this? It’s not exactly the happiest moment of my life.”

The mirror-image boy stared at him for a few moments, before making a small “tt” sound and turning his head away. “Alright, what should we talk about?” He asked, “We are stuck here for a long time if you are right.”

“Yeah,” Billy drew a deep breath and tried to forget for a while his worries. He was dead after all, and there was little he could do to help the Justice League now from the shades of Hades. He gave the other boy a smile and said, “My name is Billy Batson, what’s yours?”

The mirror-image boy seemed to hesitate for a while, but eventually he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I guess I can tell you; we are all dead, so it hardly matters. I am Damian, Damian Wayne.”  
Billy froze in his spot.

“What?” Damian asked with a skip of his eyebrow.

“Damian Wayne, as in son of Bruce Wayne?”

“Yeah yeah I know,” Damian waved a hand, “Yes I am the son of Bruce Wayne and I am dead. What you said before, let’s not talk about this and move on to the next topic.”

Mist gathered in Billy’s eyes. He murmured in a shaky voice, “I thought I could save you. I thought I could bring you back to Mr. Wayne and make the whole family happy again. It was only a few days ago and you were still alive, but here you are now, here you are. Mr. Wayne will be so devastated. And what happened to your body! Why can’t you go across the Acheron…”

Damian took a subtle step backward and his body shifted into a battle stance almost instinctively. “I died many days ago, and no one could have saved me. I think I would know about something like this,” Damian said slowly, “And who are you?”

“I’m… I mean it’s a crazy story, I’m…”

Billy was still hesitating when Damian slammed into him. Before he could even realize what was happening he was already on the ground, Damian’s knee was on his chest, and an arm pressed into his neck. “Who the hell are you?” Damian growled, “And what do you want?!”

Billy never got a chance to answer, for suddenly they were both assailed by a torrent of visions. Billy saw a beautiful woman looking down at him with her arms outstretched, and then a pool and a cave and a dojo. He saw Batman in front of him, battered and vulnerable, and he heard himself say in a strange voice, “I thought you would be taller, father.” He saw unending scenes of skyscrapers under the night sky, gun fires and roaring police cars, and the maggot infested mask of the Joker. He saw a menacing figured wrapped in white, and a long gleaming sword being thrust his way and piercing his chest. Pain swallowed his world for a moment and he screamed. He didn’t even know it was possible to feel more pain now that he was dead!

Those were Damian’s memories; memories of Robin and of his brother. 

Damian was screaming too and rolled off to the side. He managed to get up before Billy could, and barked out ferociously while panting, “Seriously, you make me go through that again, I am going to snap off your head and feed it to Cerberus.”

“What did I do to you?” Billy scrambled up too, now actually feeling upset, “You are the one running around as Robin, getting beat up by criminals left and right, and then giving me all those bad memories!”

“You ionized in the goddamn sun!”

“Well, we did both die, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

“I died instantly with a sword to the heart; you took two minutes and some becoming nuclear fusion material in the sun’s core!”

Billy was faintly aware that this debate was becoming rather ridiculous, but he could not help himself and rebutted, “That was not two minutes! I could move at the speed of light; if I had that long I would have gotten out of the sun already, or at least I would’ve tried.”

“While trying to kill a Superman counterpart?” Damian gave him a nasty look, “Hardly. And just so you know, I counted.”

“Okay now you are just being mean; you couldn’t positively have counted the time passed in a memory and that was not two minutes.”

“Was too!”

“Was not!”

The two boys stared at each other, nostrils flaring and cheeks puffing, but the next moment Billy suddenly broke out laughing. Why, he was arguing with his own brother about how he died while standing on the bank of river Acheron. Now that was actually funny, just a little. Damian first stared, then eventually he scoffed and said, “I guess we are technically brothers then. And seriously, your adoptive father’s last name was Batson? Is this some kind of a joke?”

“What? Oh…” Billy shrugged helplessly, “Um, I guess it’s just chance? It really doesn’t mean anything. And dad was a great guy; he really loved me, and I loved him too.”

Damian raised an eyebrow again, “You call that man ‘dad’, then what do you call my father?”

“Er, I call him Mr. Wayne?”

Damian stared at him with that intense look for a long time, before saying, “I suppose you do not consider him father, nor do you consider me a brother. That’s perfectly fine. You should know Bruce Wayne only has one real son and that is me.” 

“I, I do think you a brother,” Billy said while blinking owlishly, “I have wanted to meet you ever since moving into the manor.”

Damian scoffed again and said, “Tt, if I were there I would not have wanted to meet you. And the circumstances of our current meeting definitely can be better.” 

“Yeah, I was hoping I could find you and bring you home alive,” Billy muttered. 

“And for that purpose you brought about a world invasion,” Damian sounded like he was exasperated, “Brilliant, Batson, simply brilliant. Be foolish, for all I care, but try not to be foolish in my name. That is just degrading.”

“I know that was dumb,” Billy hung his head, feeling that sense of failure and dread wash over him all over again, “This mess is all my fault, but I tried my best to make it right, I really did.”

Damian fell silent once more, lips pursed into a thin line and blue eyes glowing with a sudden anger. The next thing he did was shoving his new-found brother to the ground, followed by a punch to the guts.

“That is not making things right,” Damian snarled, “You killed someone; worse still, you killed yourself. You are supposed to be Captain Marvel of the Justice League, not some suicide bomber! And do you have any idea what you have done to my father?! God, you are such a hopeless idiot.”

Billy almost shot back, “Do you have any idea what you did to him and to everyone else in the family?” But in the end he swallowed those words and stood up, dusting himself off silently. He was okay with ridiculous banter, but this was different; he really should not start this kind of argument with his brother. 

He took another deep breath and was about to say something to change to topic, when he suddenly felt a force tugging at his back, almost as if trying to drag him away physically. The scenery around him seemed to fade; the sky was becoming darker, and the river bank and the murky water more indistinct. Even Damian’s face was beginning to blur. What was going on? Was he somehow dying again in this realm of the dead, or was this all just yet another illusion?

Billy didn’t have time to ponder the situation, he just grabbed Damian’s hand and held on with all his might. No way in hell was he going to let go of his brother, no pun intended. 

Everything around him continued to fade, the lead-gray sky and the murky river now melded into a formless blob of darkness. Even Damian was gone, but Billy thought he could still feel Damian’s hand in his own. 

And then he saw the surface of the sun beneath his sandaled feet, stretching out like an infinite sea of hellfire.


	21. Return

Captain Marvel found himself floating a little way above the sun, staring down at the ocean of yellow plasma. His gold-rimmed white cape was somehow still flapping gracefully behind his back, even though “wind” did not exist out here. Captain Marvel could always fly into space of course, but the Earth-bound hero had only gone as far as the moon once with the Justice League and never had been so close to the sun—that is, not counting his last desperate plunge into the sun’s very core with Ultraman in tow. What was happening? Why was he here?

Just then he heard a now-familiar voice screaming right beside his ear, “Damn it! Not this again, I am so going to snap off your head, brother!”

“Damian!” Captain Marvel cried out with shock and elation alike, he looked around desperately, “Damian, where are you?!”

But the other boy fell silent and he heard no more. So Captain Marvel called once more, “Answer me, Damian! Just keep talking, I will find you, I swear!”

There was another long pause, before Damian’s voice answered rather awkwardly, “I have no idea what this is about, but I think I might be a ghost. I don’t see myself, only the sun. In any case, can we get the hell out of here?”

“And where are you? I can’t see you!” All the hope and fear and panic was making Captain Marvel forget that Wisdom of Solomon.

“What, can you see ghosts normally?”

“Well, yes I can, actually.”

“Even in space? I somehow don’t think you have tried that before. How would ghosts even work in space?”

“…” 

Captain Marvel sighed. He might be Earth’s Mightiest Mortal, but his brother could still one-up him. But this utterly ridiculous conversation certainly calmed him down and helped him to think. So he dug out the Book of Thoth. He opened the book, chanted a long spell, before calling his brother by name, “Stand here, Damian Wayne!”

Light condensed atop the open pages of gleaming metal, before slowly forming the shape of a boy dressed in Robin costume, doll-sized and translucent, barely visible in the roaring glare of the not so distant sun but certainly there. Captain Marvel released a long sigh of relief and muttered with overflowing joy, “Thank god! You are actually here, I didn’t just imagine it! It’s hard keeping track of what’s real and what’s not anymore.”

Miniature Damian inspected himself for a few moments, before saying with a shrug, “Tt, I suppose I look like a proper ghost now. So… What is going on?”

“Oh, I used the Book of Thoth to anchor your soul here,” Captain Marvel explained, “Thoth crafted this book to hold all the knowledge he had ever collected and to keep them safe, so it is a great container for memories and souls. Unless the spell is reversed your soul will be kept safely inside the book. This is actually Mr. Wayne’s; I found it in the Batcave and stored it with my other magical things for safekeeping. It’s a good thing I did too.”

Damian blinked and then waved his hand, saying, “Okay, so I guess that means I really am a ghost. What about you? Are you truly alive? How did we both get out of the underworld anyway?”  
Captain Marvel replied thoughtfully, “I am not too sure, since nothing like this happened before, not according to my store of knowledge anyway. But based on what happened and what we know, I think my body—I mean, Captain Marvel’s body—rebuilt itself. This body is not really a living thing, more like a machine the gods and wizards made to carry all that magical power; when it was destroyed in the sun all those power still had to go somewhere, so I guess it rebuilt itself and called my soul back. I grabbed you before I was pulled out of the Underworld, so I guess that’s why you are here too.”

“But what about…” Damian probably wanted to ask something along the line of what about Billy Batson’s body, but he stopped abruptly, before changing the subject altogether, “So what now? What do we do?”

“Let’s go back to Earth,” Captain Marvel said, “We will go find your body, put your soul back, and take you home to your father.”

Damian gave him a sharp look. “Your father too, right?”

But Captain Marvel already closed the Book of Thoth. Tucking the book away in some esoteric corner that none other can reach, the red-clad hero flew towards the Earth on his own. It was still the wee hour of the morning when he landed in a suburban house in Fawcett City. The owner of the house was already waiting in the backyard despite the ungodly hour; she looked utterly relieved but not surprised.

“Glad to see you are back, Captain Marvel,” Areia Glaukos said in a soft voice, “You had me worried for a while. I wasn’t quite so sure the magic would be strong enough to build you a new body. But I guess all’s well that ends well. Though I am surprised to see you here so soon.” 

“I wanted to get an update on how everything is from you first, Ms. Glaukos, and there are things I need your help with,” Captain Marvel answered as he landed in the yard.

Areia nodded and said, “It has been four days since the defeat of the Crime Syndicate is defeated, seven since you plunged into the sun. And if TV news is anything to go by, the Crime Syndicate all sent back to their own universe with no chance of returning. The Justice League and Justice League of America are generally fine, though the exact situation of each member is not clear, at least not to me. Lex Luthor leads a new superhero team now and he was shown as the man who defeated the Crime Syndicate. Richard Grayson, or Nightwing, as the whole world now knows, has disappeared. I don’t know if he is still alive. I am sorry, I have nothing to tell you other than what has been on the news. You will have to go to your family or your allies if you want real information. And why don’t you?”

Captain Marvel shook his head and mumbled, “I am not sure if I am really back, Ms. Glaukos. I am not sure if I can ever change back to Billy Batson anymore. If that’s the case I don’t want intrude on the family and remind them of unhappy things. In any case, I brought back my brother’s soul, he’s inside the Book of Thoth right now. I need to find Damian’s body as soon as possible, and to do that I have to change back to Billy; I have to try at least. And if that doesn’t work, I need you to hold on to Book of Thoth for me and bring it back to my family, maybe they have other ways of finding Damian’s body and bringing him back to life. Will you help, Ms. Glaukos?”

Areia gave the hero a searing look, before saying, “If that were the case, don’t you think your family deserve to know the whole truth from you and have a proper chance to say farewell?”

“I, I mean…” Captain Marvel’s voice faltered. Even the courage of Achilles and the strength of Hercules were failing him now. Earth’s Mightiest Mortal had never been afraid before, but this was different. The thought of telling his father he might never return home, it was all too terrifying. 

“You are still you, Billy,” Areia put a hand on his chest and said, “I think your family would prefer to have you home, whatever form you take, than not at all. But you deserve a break, my boy, so I will make the decision easier for you.”

A bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, igniting the slumbering and shadowy world. When the glare of the lightning faded almost-eleven-year-old Billy Batson stood there, finally with his feet on the ground once more. 

“Oh… Oh!” Billy exclaimed, shaking out his arms and legs, as if testing out if they still work.   
“You are fine, Billy; see, your own body is here,” Areia gave him a hug, “Now go save your brother. Just be careful, alright? Don’t make me worry about you again.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Billy. Finding Damian’s body was not so hard with his magic, nor was overpowering the League of Assassins that difficult. Ra’s Al-Ghul—Damian’s grandfather of all people, Captain Marvel reminded himself—had somehow repaired and regenerated the boy’s body. It was being kept in a vat of fluid, soulless but still functioning; that was why the tracing spell glowed faintly green, for Damian really had been alive in the barest sense of the word all this time. Captain Marvel could not even begin to imagine what evil the League of Assassins planned with Damian’s body, but at least it made his present task easier. All he had to do was return Damian’s soul to his living body, and his brother was whole again. 

He actually still need to get his brother a Christmas present.

That thought made Captain Marvel giddy with joy, and his face split into a giant grin.

Damian opened his eyes, gave the red-clad hero a look, and the boy said, “Tt, stop grinning like an idiot! You really give the Justice League a bad name. And why don’t you go back to the Batcave and grab my uniform?”

Captain Marvel blinked rather owlishly, before exclaiming with incredulity, “Wait, seriously?”

“Well yes,” Damian stood up and was busy wringing fluid out of his short hair, “You don’t want to see me go home wearing League of Assassin clothes. It will give father all sorts of wrong ideas and he will throw a Batarang at us before we even open our mouths. Come on, you move at the speed of light anyway. What’s here to Gotham for you?”

“It’s not like he hasn’t thrown a Batarang at me before,” Captain Marvel pointed out, “A uniform is hardly worth an extra trip, and I can’t believe that’s the first thing you say to me after you return from the dead. There are clothes over there; just put them on and we will go home.”

“I am the older one and heir of the Wayne house; you should listen to me,” Damian tried to put on an authoritative face, despite being still butt-naked.

“That’s funny, but of course I am older. I am almost eleven now, and you are technically only five or six years old. You grew up super-fast in one of those vats; your grandfather told me so himself. Will you just put on some clothes and then we can go? It’s almost dinner time, and Alfred always makes Shepherd’s Pie for Thursdays, you know this right?”

Damian gave him another surly look, but Shepherd’s Pie proved to be too big a temptation. He grabbed a set of League scientist uniform and got dressed hurriedly; the clothes were too big but at least he could stay covered and warm. While dressing he did not forget to argue, “It doesn’t matter I wasn’t born before you, according to my birth certificate I am eleven, therefore your older brother.”

“We are in the same grade, just so you know.”

“I am the eldest heir of the House of Wayne…”

“I am pretty sure that’s Dick.”

At Dick’s name Damian forgot about the childish banter for a moment, instead he asked, “Speaking of Grayson, how is he? How are Todd and Drake? Did the family all manage to stay alive while I was gone? You said something about alien invasion when we were in the underworld… Were you actually serious about it?”

Captain Marvel’s face darkened. It was true, they did not return to a happy and wholesome world. The war with the Crime Syndicate had wreaked havoc. Even on his way here to the lair of the League of Assassins he had seen devastation and desolation all around. And what about Dick? Was he even alive? What about the rest of the family? Did Batman and Cyborg come out okay, and what of the rest of Justice League? If Lex Luthor was in charge things must be really bad indeed. 

But one step at a time, there was no use worrying right now; first they have to get home. 

So he drew a deep breath and said, “Well, let’s go home and see everyone then.”


	22. Reverberation

To Damian it seemed no timed passed at all before his feet touched the grounds of Wayne Manor again—or maybe he should say the floor boards of Wayne Manor, for they stood on the second story balcony right outside a large bedroom.

“That is quick,” Damian commented with a nod, “Speed of light certainly is useful.”

Captain Marvel laughed, “That wasn’t the speed of light! We were going no more than Mach 3 at the fastest stretch; I don’t go any faster when I have someone else with me. And come in quickly, you don’t want to get caught by the cameras and sensors.” 

He had already dragged open the balcony door and quickly pulled Damian inside as well. Captain Marvel ducked into the far corner of the large bedroom and called down the magical lightning, changing back to his ten-year old self. This string of actions looked so easy and natural for him, as if he had done it a million times, meanwhile Damian was staring at him with a disbelieving look. 

“Did you say you avoided all the cameras and sensors? Really?”

“Of course,” Billy replied rather proudly, “I had lots of practice getting in and out of the house with nobody being the wiser. Normally I just move fast enough to beat the cameras, but I do know how to avoid them too. First thing I did after moving in was studying all the security equipment.”

Damian’s forehead met his palm in sheer exasperation. “Can you be any more of a fool?” The boy hissed while gesturing to his League of Assassin outfit, “What would you think and do if you saw supposedly dead children suddenly appearing in your home, without a single warning, and wearing enemy uniforms?”

Billy blinked owlishly, before saying, “Um, I would be really happy to see them alive?”

“Oh for the love of…” Damian looked positively murderous, “Seriously, brother, if we return from the dead only to be killed by our own father, I am most definitely going to disown you. Okay, lesson number one in being the son of Batman: trip a damn alarm when you approach him!”

Billy nodded with an abashed look, and he opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but instead he yawned. Blushing furiously, Billy rubbed his eyes and murmured, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yawn. I am just so tired. Say, can we nap for a while first? I mean you must be tired too.”

Damian rolled his eyes and promptly ignored his brother, instead he ran off to his own bedroom. Billy trailed behind him with uncertainty, wobbling on his feet. That particularly bedroom must have stayed closed for a long time, for as soon as Damian opened the door a small plume of dust greeted him. “Oh come now!” Damian exclaimed, “They could at least keep it clean! Since when did Pennyworth become so unprofessional?”

“How, how can you talk like that? It’s not Alfred’s fault, not at all!” Billy objected, “You have no idea how difficult it was for Alfred, for all of them. You were gone, and they still had to act as if you were just off studying in Europe or something. They didn’t want me to know, and they didn’t want me suspecting anything. I had no idea, and sometimes I would talk about you with them all day long, because I liked the idea of having a brother… And once I snuck into your room; Mr. Wayne was really upset and he still had to pretend it was just because you didn’t like anyone poking in your room. By the way I am sorry for sneaking into your room…” Here Billy stopped to draw a deep breath. His mouth was incredibly dry, and he was feeling dizzy this entire time, he simply could not talk anymore. 

For once Damian did not respond immediately with a snarky retort. He stood in front of his closet, looking for a set of clean clothes or maybe just pretending he was looking for clothes. Eventually he spoke again, voice soft and without the usual edge. “Yeah whatever,” Damian said while pulling on a T-shirt, “A bedroom is just a bedroom, you sleep in it, and it really doesn’t mean anything. They should have just treated it like a room, nothing more. But now that I am back, barge in without my permission at your own peril. Sometimes I set up booby traps simply to amuse myself, just so you know.”

Strangely Billy never responded to this, instead Damian heard a dull thud of something hitting the carpeted floor. He turned around in surprise, only to see Billy collapsed on the floor, pale and unconscious. 

Well, so much for coming back from the dead. 

Damian stood absolutely frozen for a fraction of a second, before diving towards his brother. When he felt a pulse and shallow breathing he gave a very small sigh of relief. All the first-aid lessons he never cared for somehow all rushed back to him at this critical moment. He quickly checked Billy for injuries, finding none he shook the boy’s shoulders roughly and yelled, “Wake up, damn it, don’t scare me like that!”

Billy’s eyes opened a crack and he looked at his brother blearily. “Tired, can’t… let’s sleep… don’t need to get up…” Billy’s voice was barely above a whisper, whatever words did manage to escape his mouth were an incoherent mess.

“Come on, you need to stay awake until you see a doctor,” Damian barked at his brother, “If the doctor says you can sleep then you can sleep for as long as you want, so stay with me, and don’t you dare close your eyes!”

But Billy’s eyes were losing focus again, and he seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Damian was loath to leave his brother, but at this point he had no choice; he dashed out of his bedroom and ran down the corridor. Bedrooms were off limits to all cameras and sensors, but other parts of the house did have plenty of sensors and alarms. Damian made sure to trip every single alarm he knew of, and then stopped in front of the only security camera inside the house.

He screamed into the camera, “Father, we have been inside the house for ten minutes now! Come on, I need you!”

Then he ran into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of cold juice, before returning to his bedroom. He  
shook Billy again, saying, “Wake up and drink something. I’ve got juice, and I bet this is your favorite too, Pennyworth stocked an entire fridge’s worth. Drink some, and then you can sleep for as long as you like, I am going to fake the doctor’s note for you so you don’t have to go to school for a month, how is that?” 

Damian never thought he would come to this, coaxing a patient by the sickbed (never mind the lack of an actual bed), saying utterly false and stupid things. This was a job for the likes of Grayson. But he was willing to make an exception and descend to Grayson’s level this once. Billy was conscious enough to swallow a few mouthful of juice, but still seemed to be in and out of it. Damian was so focused on his brother he did not notice the two people standing just outside his bedroom door until he heard a choked cry from an aged voice. It almost sounded like someone calling his name, but that voice was so hoarse and dry it was almost impossible to tell what word it pronounced.  
Damian raised his head and saw Alfred Pennyworth standing there with extended and trembling hands. But his father was still like a statue, motionless and snow white pale, as if frozen in time and space. 

“Father, Pennyworth, help me!” Damian cried, “Billy just fell over and I can’t seem to wake him up.”  
But the two adults only stared at him. 

“Father!” Damian’s fist thudded against the carpeted floor without him realizing, “You two can gawk later, but Billy needs help now. It would be ridiculous if he were to die, come back alive, only to die again!”

At that line Bruce Wayne woke up with a shudder. He knelt down beside his children and checked Billy’s vitals. 

“There is a pulse and a breath, and I don’t see any injuries. He seemed fine before he suddenly toppled over, only ever complained about being tired,” Damian supplied helpfully. 

“I only see symptoms of dehydration,” Bruce answered while gathering up the unconscious boy in his arms, “I can’t tell what’s wrong with him; we will need to get a real professional to look him over. While we are in the car keep feeding him juice. Alfred, call Leslie; we need her to be available as soon as we arrive.”

On the way to Doctor Leslie Thompkins’s clinic Billy actually woke up properly after downing half a bottle of juice. “I feel much better now,” He said in a weak voice, words slurring together in bare coherence, “Can I… Can I just go home and sleep and…”

“No!” Bruce and Damian barked out at the same time. 

Wisely Billy shut his mouth and did not argue. 

Doctor Leslie Thompkins’s diagnosis turned out to be unbelievably simple. After she set up an IV therapy for Billy and sent off all the blood for testing she took Bruce and Alfred to her office. “I wouldn’t know for certain until I have all test results back, but right now it looks like Billy is suffering from dehydration, and on top of that low blood sugar, also low blood pressure, low heart rate, basically all vitals on the low side. It is nothing too serious, I would say it’s simply exhaustion and running on too little food and water for the past few days. I sometimes have street children brought here with similar problems, nothing a bottle of saline solution and a good meal can’t cure. Except I can’t think for the life of me why the son of a billionaire would starve to the level of fainting spells.” Here the doctor’s expression darkened as she fixed a fierce look on Bruce, “Did the boy get involved with your… projects? Was it because of this recent war?”

Bruce’s hands slowly balled into fists, but he did not speak. 

Leslie took his silence as affirmation, so she continued with furrowed brow and a shake of her head. “Look, Bruce, you can’t keep doing this,” She said, “Billy is not even eleven. And he isn’t Damian. He wasn’t trained to be an assassin since he was a toddler. Not that Damian should be doing this either, but at least Damian isn’t defenseless. It’s only starvation and exhaustion this time, but what next? I understand if there were some emergencies in this recent war, but please, no more. You can’t ask me to patch up children again and again, I…”

Leslie paused to take a breath, shaking her head even more vigorously. So Alfred interrupted gently, saying, “We understand where you are coming from, Leslie, and of course we would do everything to keep the boys safe. But the situation with Master William is rather complicated…”

“You are right, Leslie,” Bruce suddenly cut the old butler off, “You are absolutely right. You can consider the family business closed.”

At the same time the two Wayne boys were chatting rather animatedly in the sick room. Billy had finally woken up properly; he was still hooked to the IV unit and was drinking from an enormous protein shake in hand. “I really am fine,” Billy said, “I think I am just too tired and too hungry. Back when I was in Fawcett, sometimes when I couldn’t find much food for a few days, I would get dizzy and tired like this too.”

Damian sat at the foot of the sick bed, watching his brother with a very exasperated expression. “So basically you almost starved to death,” Damian muttered with a sigh, “You have seriously got to be kidding me. Can you imagine if we went to a regular hospital, what kind of headlines would dominate the tabloids tomorrow? ‘Son of billionaire hospitalised due to hunger’. I’d pay a buck or two to read that story.”

Billy blushed and murmured, “Well, I haven’t eaten or slept since running off to Kahndaq, and that was like what, almost two weeks ago. I did change back a few times too, but didn’t both with eating. You-know-who doesn’t need to eat or sleep, but I don’t know what that does to me. I have never gone on a mission lasting two weeks before; it had always been a weekend at most.” 

“You have also never died before.”

“Well, there is that.”

Damian cocked his head. “It is curious though, what happens to your body, this weak and untrained body, while you-know-who is running around?”

“Hey! I am not that weak; I will grow,” Billy protested before answering, “And I have no idea. No one ever told me, and that knowledge isn’t written down or stored anywhere. I guess I never tried to figure it out? I thought if I know then someone else can know too, and maybe use that knowledge against me, like stealing my body or something.”

“You actually have a good point there.” Damian paused. He took a good twenty seconds to appraise his brother once more, then he poked Billy’s ribs, before saying with a shake of his head, “In any case, even if you are powerful in other ways, you still need to get stronger and train. A lot of training. It is too embarrassing to have a brother who faints from hunger.”

“Barbara is teaching me martial arts,” Billy said happily, “And she is such a wonderful teacher!”

“Tt, she is a girl. You learn from a girl you will fight like one. Did I mention she is a ballerina? What’s worse than fighting like a girl is fighting like a dancing girl.”

Billy laughed uncontrollably while Damian gave him a look. Eventually Billy said, “But she is an awesome fighter! I bet she can beat you.”

“As if, Batson.”

“Well, just you wait. She is too old to fight you herself to prove anything, but maybe in a year’s time I will show you how good her student can be.”

Damian looked more annoyed than offended, “Well, that goes to show how little you know about physical training and martial arts. But in all seriousness, you need to train with me and father. We will get you in shape. We need to get you trained on all the equipment down in the cave too. And father should probably make you a uniform, something protective. But remember, you are not going to be father’s partner; that position is filled. Are we clear?”

Billy laughed again and replied cheekily, “Crystal clear. But hey, if you ever want to play in the big league, I will definitely put in a good word for you.”

“Ha! The big league? Don’t delude yourself.”

“Of course it’s the big league! Mr. Wayne is in it too. Though I always wondered why Dick didn’t join, everyone wanted him to join. Speaking of Dick, holy moly, I forgot to ask Mr. Wayne… And I really need to check on the league…”

Bruce Wayne stood outside the door and listened to his boys banter, but stead of being cheered by those ridiculous arguments only ten-year olds could produce, his chest was growing colder and colder. He did not know why and how his children suddenly returned to him from the dead, he didn’t dare to even wonder why, lest it turns out to be a fleeting dream, but he knew he could not count on another miracle. Yet there were his boys, already discussing training and heroics in the middle of a sickroom, in the same way other children would talk about carton and minor league baseball. 

The mention of Dick’s name proved to be the last straw. Richard Grayson, like so many others, did not come back from the war against the Crime Syndicate; he was now a ghost of his former self, robbed of his name and his identity, doomed to hide and flee forever more like the cursed Dutchman. Yet another child he had to bury with his own hands.

He was done listening to his elementary school aged children glibly discuss the prospect of dying, so he stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him with extra force. 

“No,” Bruce Wayne said vehemently, “No. No more cave, no more training, and no more so-called big league. The league is gone. You two will get better and go back to school. Play baseball, join the choir, learn poker and go rob Vegas for all I care, but that’s the only extracurricular activities you are allowed.”

The reaction was immediate. Billy turned a shade paler than before and he exclaimed, “What do you mean the league is gone? What happened to everyone?! And Cy… He has to be okay!” While Damian only said in a flat voice complete with a little derisive snort, “Are you quite alright, father?”

“No, I am not alright, do you honestly expect me to be?” 

Bruce’s words came out in a barely contained growl so hoarse and pained that the two boys instantly quieted down, blue eyes staring back at their father with uncertainty. Bruce took a deep breath. He wanted to reprimand the children but found himself unable to do so, so he only said, “No more. I am your father, not a partner or a colleague, no. We are done, the family business is closed. From now on we sleep at night.”


	23. Reconsideration

Damian was almost asleep when he heard a quiet rapping at his bedroom door. He turned in his bed but did not get up. The rapping was replaced by the sound of door knob turning, only to be defeated by the lock, and then went back to knocking. 

“Tt,” Damian muttered, and promptly ignored the door. 

It was most likely his father here to cajole and to placate, perhaps even with a “divide and conquer” strategy in mind. But he was not about to fall for it. He and Billy were a united front on this issue, no way was he going to let his father talk to him alone about it. In any case, he was in no mood to relive the fierce argument from this afternoon. Family business closed? That was ridiculous! He was Robin; he earned it. And Robin was not just a simple title, it was a purpose worth living for. No one could make him give up Robin, not even a retiring Batman. 

The rapping continued at the door, and a voice said, “It’s me, Damian, please let me in. I… I really need to talk to you.”

Damian’s eyes snapped open. He rolled out of bed and opened the door, and seeing it really was Billy, he sighed and dragged his brother inside. “Really? You have to talk now? It’s past eleven,” Damian was actually worried, but his voice still sounded exasperated. He fell back into his bed without even turning the lights on.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Billy murmured in a tiny voice. He followed Damian into the room, and receiving no objection from Damian, climbed into bed as well. 

“So what do you want to talk about?” Damian asked while pushing a pillow towards his brother.

“I…” Billy fell silent for a while, as if working up his courage to say something. After a drawn out silence he finally said, “I still think I should go see Cyborg and explain the golden apple thing myself.”

During their argument this afternoon Billy had let slip the fact in order to save Cyborg’s life he had to resort to feeding Cyborg the fabled golden apple, making Cyborg immortal. This news made Bruce even more distraught. He promptly forbade Billy from going to see Cyborg, and he was determined go to Cyborg that very night and explain everything himself. 

Damian asked, “You want to go see him right now?” Receiving no reply he shrugged imperceptibly and said, “I agree; you should go explain everything to Cyborg yourself. I can come with you if you want.”

“I don’t know…” Billy mumbled, “Do you think, do you think Cyborg will be mad at me? I… He is a good friend, I don’t want him to be mad at me. What should I tell him?”

“Many people would consider immortality a great gift, and even if Cyborg doesn’t…”

“He would never,” Billy cut in despairingly, “He already hates the fact he is not like everyone else, and he is always scared that somehow he is not human anymore. Now because of me he is going to live forever, he is going to be even more unlike everyone else. How can he not be upset?”

Damian grabbed Billy’s arm and gave a vigorous shake. “Because of you he is alive. Do you rather have a dead Cyborg or an immortal Cyborg who might be mad at you for a while? And honestly, he can have maybe a week to be upset; if he resents you for any longer, then he is not someone worth bothering with anyway.”

“Do you really think so? If I saved you but everything else didn’t turn out so well, like if Mr. Wayne or Dick didn’t make it, would you be mad at me for only a week? Even if they all made it things are still really bad. I mean everyone knows Dick is Nightwing now. He has to pretend to be dead to the world, spend the rest of his life hiding, can’t ever use his real name again or even show his real face…”  
Billy’s voice died. This time Damian had no ready reply. He stared at his brother for a long time, even though he could not really see the expression on Billy’s face in the darkness. Eventually he turned away from Billy and said, “Well, that was a pretty stupid thing you did, running off to Kahndaq all by yourself without telling anyone what you were doing.”

“It’s my fault, all my fault,” Billy muttered bitterly, “I didn’t think, and I didn’t know any better. Maybe Mr. Wayne was right after all, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Damian turned back immediately. “What?” The boy exclaimed at his brother, “Are you out of your mind, Batson? You are a member of the Justice League for god’s sake. You can’t be serious about this… You are serious about this. Did father talk to you again and brainwashed you somehow? Damn it, we are supposed to be together on this! Even if you just had some hare-brained epiphany, don’t include me in it!”

Billy continued in the same low and miserable voice, as if oblivious to Damian’s incredulity and anger. He said, “It’s not Mr. Wayne. You know, Cyborg was the first one who told me about your, well, about your death. Cyborg told me Batman just lost his partner and I really should stay out of Batman’s way. I was so shocked when I first heard it. I mean I didn’t know who Robin was, but I knew Robin was close to my age. It’s terrible, I thought, maybe Batman shouldn’t have a kid with him out on the street. It’s just too dangerous.”

Damian hissed at him, “Speak for yourself! What are you basing your judgment on exactly?”

“And Cyborg said, kids shouldn’t be involved with this superhero business at all,” Billy kept going, “He said even he was a bit too young when he started, and he probably shouldn’t have gotten involved if things weren’t so desperate. Cyborg was a high school senior when the war with Darkseid broke out. He wasn’t afraid, he told me, but he was young and not smart enough and he could have hurt the people he was trying to help. What does that make me? I am not even eleven, just a stupid kid. I started off this whole war because I didn’t know how to do things right, I just ran with whatever dumb idea first hit me. I… I killed someone, Damian. Ultraman was the bad guy, but maybe if I were older and smarter I could have found a way to stop him but not kill him.”

Billy sounded like he was close to tears, and Damian was completely at a loss. Damian wanted to reject this whole speech, but a part of him actually agreed with Billy, just a little. His brother was an untrained kid who barely kept up with public school, Damian thought, but it was different for him. He was well-trained and he was resourceful, he earned the Robin uniform; he deserved to be out on the street helping people and putting a stop to criminals. 

Right?

Damian could feel the onset of a headache. So he said, “You know what, go to sleep. Just sleep on it, alright? You can sleep here tonight.”

“Okay,” Billy murmured. He crawled even deeper under the cover and seemed to fall asleep in mere minutes. 

But Damian tossed and turned and couldn’t fall asleep at all. Billy’s arguments just kept circling in his mind. After what seemed like forever he suddenly spoke, murmuring in a low but fierce voice, “But you are wrong. Wrong about everything, especially wrong about yourself.”

Damian didn’t quite remember falling asleep, but he was rudely awoken when Billy suddenly bolted up in bed with a half-choked scream sometime in the depth of the night. Damian was so startled he nearly rolled off the bed, and when he finally woke up proper and realized what had just happened, he promptly stuffed a pillow in Billy’s face. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? Remind me to never share a bed with you ever again,” Damian hissed, “You are too old to be frightened by nightmares anymore!”

Billy blinked a few times, before muttering, “It’s not just any nightmare. Uh, I think Hypnos was trying to send me a message.”

A full beat of silence, before Damian exclaimed, “What?”

“Hypnos, you know,” Billy mumbled, “I saw him in my dream, and he was yelling at me. He said I don’t get to be the first person who just waltzed in and out of the underworld, not like that. He said if I had at least left alone Hades would probably just turn a blind eye, since there were bigger powers at play, but I took someone else with me too, and now Hades is really, really mad. He said there will be payback.”

“Hypnos, as in the Greek deity of sleep. He showed up in your dream to tell you that Hades is livid with you for escaping the underworld and will seek revenge upon you.”

“Something like that…”

Damian pondered briefly why he was even taking this conversation seriously, but then had to remind himself he really did first meet his brother on the bank of the Acheron River, because the two of them both lacked a ferry ticket to enter the realm of the dead.

“Has he ever done that before? I mean the god of dreams coming to you at night with some warning or threat?” Damian couldn’t help but asking a question that was probably not the most important at the moment. He was rather curious just how much craziness his little brother lived with. 

“Hypnos showed up in my dream once before,” Billy said with a shrug, “Along with Thanatos, to warn me about the golden apples. They never liked me, but they weren’t so hostile last time.”

“So what do we do now?”

Billy hesitated for a long time, before murmuring in a tiny voice, “Is anyone patrolling tonight? We should warn someone, Gotham might be in danger…”

“So,” Damian asked, “What exactly is stopping the two of us, you and I, from patrolling?” 

Billy was wringing his bed cover. “But, but Mr. Wayne said…”

“It’s really not that complicated, brother,” Damian cut him off, “Do you think people are in danger? Do you think you are the best one to handle this threat?”

Billy could not argue with that. So a few minutes later Captain Marvel was flying over the roofs of Gotham, carrying in his arms one black-garbed little ninja. (Damian couldn’t get to his Robin uniform since it was still inside the Batcave, which now refused to open its doors to him.) Whatever hesitations plagued little Billy did not even touch Captain Marvel. The red-clad hero looked ever so purposeful and powerful as he flew through the night. When the two of them reached a stretch of old, rickety residential low-rise, Captain Marvel suddenly pointed to a particularly ancient brick building and said, “There! That’s the evil spirit I’ve been sensing. Feels like death itself, must be…”

His voice abruptly dropped off, prompting Damian to ask, “What now?”

“It’s gone,” answered Captain Marvel, “I am not sensing it anymore. Someone beat us to the enemy?”

“I am going to get a closer look.”

Damian jumped down and landed on a tall tree growing right in front of the building. He crouched low on a thick branch like a cat and peered into the single lit window on the third floor. One look and it was clear who beat them to the threat; just then the lit window burst open and a lithe form jumped out.

“Ugh, woman,” Damian muttered.

Even as the window opened Captain Marvel zoomed near, now hovering right in front of the window, even though he was some fifty feet away a blink earlier. “Bar…Batgirl!” He exclaimed, obviously overjoyed. 

Batgirl’s jump line nearly missed its target and she looked unsteady for a split second, but before Captain Marvel could catch her she pulled herself towards the tree and landed on a thick branch. For what seemed forever she simply stood there, high up on the tree, absolutely frozen and hugging the tree trunk as if holding on for her dear life. Damian landed on the same branch and snapped his fingers in front of Batgirl’s face.

“Come on, Batgirl, try tell us what happened before the sun comes out.”

Batgirl drew a slow and deep breath. “Is that… is that really you, Robin? D?”

“Yes, and can we talk about business now?”

Batgirl shook her head with something akin to desperation, “This can’t be real, I am losing it…”

“I am perfectly real, woman. You are becoming worse than Drake.”

“You sound like Robin alright. But when did you guys… when did this… Damn it, he didn’t tell me a thing! And he sent you two out here? No, impossible, he would never…”

“He didn’t send us, but we came nonetheless,” Damian said with a smirk and a shrug, “Captain Marvel received a warning of mythic proportion, something about undead evil haunting Gotham, so we decided to come out here and patrol. Apparently this is our fault: Hades is angry we escaped the underworld, so the god of death seeks revenge.”

Batgirl blinked a few times, before exclaiming. “What?”

Here Captain Marvel cut in, asking with concern, “So what was it you faced? Are you okay? Is everyone in the building okay?”

“Some teenagers played a supernatural game, summoning the Midnight Man,” Batgirl rubbed her eyes tiredly, “It was a stupid urban legend gone sour, but I thought it was just your garden variety undead and evil spirit, certainly not something that would alarm you, Captain Marvel. Especially if it usually takes the god of death himself to alarm you.”

Captain Marvel raised an eyebrow, perhaps out of faint amusement, but he still seemed rather somber, “I am not sure there is such a thing as ‘garden variety’ evil spirits; they are all very dangerous. What did you do? How did you defeat it?”

“Sage and fire, that’s normally how you kill the evil spirits, right?”

“Really? That was it?” Captain Marvel exclaimed, “It was that easy?”

Now it was Batgirl’s turn to give him that faintly amused wry look. She murmured, “Well, I wouldn’t call it easy, not for me at least.”

“I didn’t mean to say…It’s not that you… Oh forget it.” It looked as if Captain Marvel was blushing, “But please, can you tell me more about this Midnight Man? How did those people call him out? What was he like? I need more details to figure out whether this incident is actually connected to Hypnos’s warning.”

“It’s hard to describe him, he was a rather formless blob. The EMP reader picked him up easily...” Batgirl’s voice trailed off, as if suddenly taken over by some weighty and trouble thoughts. She sighed, sounding absolutely exhausted. 

So Captain Marvel apologized, “Sorry, you must be tired; we really shouldn’t be bugging you right now. Maybe we can talk tomorrow? And are you feeling okay? I can probably get you something…”

“No, let’s talk, god knows how much I wanted to speak to you,” Batgirl sighed again, “Just…. Just not like this, standing out here on a tree so late at night, and dressed so abominably. Can I buy you boys ice cream somewhere?”

“Are you out of your mind, woman?” It was Damian who protested first. 

“Please, you two. Let’s get out of these clothes and go to a 24-7 burger joint like normal people. I will buy whatever you boys want,” Batgirl said, voice quivering. 

Neither boy had ever heard her use that kind of pleading voice before, and they were both shocked into silence for a good minute.   
Eventually Damian answered, “Alright then, meet us at the big M around the corner. I demand an extra-large milkshake.”

Once they sat down over ice cream, no one seemed ready to start the conversation. Damian sat there with a stoic face, rather at a loss. Billy stared resolutely at his banana split, only sneaking a few furtive glances at Barbara in between stuffing his face with ice cream. Now that Barbara was out of her costume, it was easy to see how much she has changed. She looked wispy and gaunt, pale as a ghost, no color to her hollowed cheek. Barbara was staring at Billy with such intensity, Billy found it difficult to look back.

When Damian finished the last drop of his milkshake (rather too quickly), he put down the cup with a long suffering sigh. “If this is how it will be for the rest of the night, I need another milkshake, and food,” The boy said, “Why don’t I go buy something, and you two can speak to each other.”

Damian was never really close to Barbara. For him she was always something along the line of “daughter of a dull but imminently respectable man” and “will Grayson just make a move and get the Unresolved Sexual Tension out of the way already!” But he could tell Barbara and Billy were much closer, and Billy did die trying to protect her from Ultraman.

But Barbara caught Damian’s hand and held it very tightly. “Don’t go yet, Damian, we should talk. Or just listen to me,” She said in a low voice, “We were never that close, I grant you, and in all honesty when you had passed away I never did mourn you properly. At first I was too shocked, then too wrapped up in my own tragedy, and eventually I was too miserable watching Bruce and Dick grieve to remember what it was all for. Can you imagine what you father and your brother were like in those days, Damian? I truly thought none of us could ever be happy again.”

Here she clasped Billy’s hand in her own too and continued, “And then you came, Billy, you came bounding into Bruce’s life. You were a small balm to all his regrets, which are too many, and he was going to make up everything that went wrong in his life to you. It wasn’t fair to you, but he badly needed it. Even I needed it. Have I ever told you about my own brother, Billy? No? Well, I adored him when we were young, I really did, but he still turned out to be a psychopath mass murderer and I had to kill him with my own hands. I was so very happy to meet you and have you in my life, Billy. You are such a sweet kid, someone I can treat like a real brother, and away from the rest of the family’s troubles. Until the war happened.”

Barbara fell silent once more, and neither boy dared to say anything in response or prompt. After what seemed like forever Barbara sighed deeply and continued, “When we returned to Gotham I knew it was all over. You were gone. Gone. Never to return. And I was the most direct cause. Dick had to leave too; he might be somewhere out there but he is dead to us. Bruce was beyond all hope. I put on the costume again because Bruce did it, and because my father was still putting his life on the line every day at work. I did it because there was nothing else to do. It seemed like there was nothing else worth living for.”

“Now you two are back. Beyond all realm of possibility you two are actually back. Would you two leave again? Would you two condemn us to that hopeless state with nothing to live for again?”

Damian forgot about trying to wrest his hand away from Barbara’s grip for a while. He made a small “tt” sound between his teeth and said, “We are not planning on dying again, if that’s what you are asking. You really don’t have to be so worried. Look, Gordon, you are fine, we are fine; we are all here, alright?”

There was a half-choked desperate laugh from Barbara, and she said, “I don’t think you were ever planning on dying, but it happened nonetheless. Would you two really make us live with that risk?”

“But you and father and Grayson are making us…” 

Damian was going to say “all of you are making live with that risk too”, as a sort of last ditch effort to defend against everything thrown at him so far. He was thankful in some measure that it was Barbara Gordon sitting in front of him right now. He probably couldn’t put up this much fight if it were Dick staring him down. But Damian never did get to finish that last sentence, for beside him Billy suddenly started crying.


	24. Reverberations

Following that unwitting encounter with Batgirl, Damian Wayne passed the most mundane ten days of his (not very long) life. He went to school, tutored his brother, resumed acting lessons with Carrie Kelly, even tried out for the school baseball team and volunteered at the local SPCA with Billy in tow because heck, if he was going to play the ordinary rich kid with an actual goal in life, he as well go the whole way, right? 

Damian really didn’t plan on giving in so easily, but every force in the universe was conspiring against him. 

After that conversation with Batgirl, the two boys returned to the manor only to find their father waiting for them in Damian’s bedroom. Bruce Wayne, who never took disobedience well, neither shouted nor growled at them for such flagrant flaunting of his authority. He just sat there and stared at his sons, wearing an impossibly flat, almost dead look on his face. After a way prolonged staring contest, Bruce stood up.

“Good, you two are back,” He simply said, “I can go to sleep then.”

Somehow that simple sentence became the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Billy rushed forward and hugged Bruce tightly. Words came out of his mouth in a jumbled mess, “I am sorry, Mr. Wayne, I am really sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore everything you said; I just… I just thought something really bad was in the city. And it’s all my fault, I dragged Damian into this. I promise not to do it again. I promise, really, I won’t rush out there anymore just like that. Sorry…”

Well then. Universe: 1; Damian Wayne: 0.

If he could at least harden himself against his father and Barbara Gordon, it became much more difficult when Dick Grayson crawled into his bedroom through the window at night. Dick gave him a tight hug that he always pretended to hate, and a smile so wan and watery it was almost unlike Dick. “Promise me you will at least try to grow up like a normal kid, alright?” Dick had murmured, “I am already cut off from everything I ever cared for, knowing you guys are safe is the only thing I have now. I can’t take another round of you-know-what, little D, I really can’t.”

Damian had no smart retort for that. Universe: 2; Damian Wayne: 0. 

On top of that, Damian was shocked to find that when his father had said the family business was closed the man seemed to really, actually, in all honesty, mean it. Batman has not been seen in Gotham ever since Damian and Billy returned home. Gang wars raged on, lunatics roamed still, and the Bat signal turned on and off just as usual, but Batman would not appear. And Billy stayed put too. He only asked Bruce to arrange a meeting with Cyborg and went to that meeting as good ol’ Billy, and then he seemed to have forgotten all about ever being a superhero and a member of the Justice League. 

So it was only natural that Damian decided to concede the battle, for now at least, and wait. He was still skeptical that his father would really retire. He just needed to catch Batman once, and he could launch a counterattack from there. 

On the eleventh night since returning home, when Damian found the master bedroom empty though it was past midnight, he gave a satisfied smirk. Ha, so much for “family business closed”! As if someone like the Batman could ever give up his kingdom. He slinked through the manor, looking for evidence that his father was really down in the Batcave, only to find the man in his study, staring at a wall of monitor screens that displayed… stock market charts, of all things.

“Damian?” Bruce turned towards his son, “What are you doing out here past midnight?”

Damian clicked his tongue and answered with unhappy frankness, “Tt, you weren’t in your bedroom, and I thought perhaps you decided to leave retirement behind.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and said, “You should know better, Damian, you know I am a man of my words. And in any case, you seem to be adjusting fine.”

“I am not adjusting; I am bidding for the right moment to counterattack. That moment will come, count on it, father,” Damian said bluntly.

Bruce tossed the pen in his hand aside and said flatly, “Sure, when you are eighteen and when you can legally ignore everything I say. Until then, you will sleep at night like normal kids.” After a pause he added in a softer voice, “Is life in the past ten days so insufferable to you, Damian? You seem to be enjoying all those new activities. You never had a chance to be a normal kid, why not give it a try?”

“You talk of ‘normal’ as if it is some glittering and achievable Utopia, father,” Damian ground out with ample frustration, “But you are wrong! It’s just a matter of how long and how much destruction before you realize the point. Do you really think you can be normal? You can be mundane, afraid and desensitized like the clueless masses, too weak to care? Do you really think you can just watch all the suffering out there without feeling like it is you who failed them?”

“So I should rather live with having failed my own children?” Bruce said, tension and anger building up in his voice, “That is enough, Damian, go back to sleep.”

But by now Damian was even angrier than his father. “Oh for crying out loud!” The boy cried, “Alright, for once let’s not make this about you. Is that what you want Billy to live with then, this daily guilt of shirking his duty? He was made a god on Earth; there are threats only he is aware of, only he can deal with. Now he is going to turn his back on everything he should be doing, because of you, father. You think it’s an easy and happy decision for him? He already thinks this whole mess with the Crime Syndicate is his fault, even though he took down the biggest threat, mind you. And now you are making him believe he can’t even make up for his perceived failures!”

Bruce was stunned into silence. He had expected objections and disobedience from Damian, but certainly not this impassioned outburst for his brother. He didn’t even think Damian would accept a blood brother so easily. So after a long pause Bruce said carefully, “You and Billy haven’t known each other for very long.”

Damian waved his hand almost impatiently, “We were both stuck on the bank of Acheron, couldn’t get into the underworld and had nothing better to do than sharing memories, literally by the way. So why does time matter?”

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, for a stormy expression suddenly overtook Bruce’s face. His hands curled into fists and he set his jaw with extra determination. “That’s enough, Damian,” Bruce said, “Go to sleep, now!”

Damian gave his father a long and hard look, before saying, “Tt, alright. But you should know this will eventually just blow up in your face, father.” With that he disappeared down the corridor, swift and silent as only befitting of a son of the Dark Knight.

At half past midnight the Bat signal turned on and beamed its rays of hope into the night sky. Except James Gordon didn’t know whether he really should be hopeful. Batman had simply…disappeared. Neither police nor criminal had seen even a glimpse of the corner of his cape in the past ten days, and rumors were beginning to fly. While Batman did put the city into some semblance of order after the Crime Syndicate and Bane left, his sudden disappearance now unleashed once again the anarchy that threatened to overflow the rim. What with gang wars and growing drug trafficking and strange missing children cases that screamed supernatural even to a down-to-earth, sensible cop like himself… By God, he really needed Batman right now. Whatever happened to Gotham’s protector? Gordon was snapped out of his musings by the sound of someone pulling the switch of the Bat signal. He spun around and found himself staring at a spritely figure and long flaming red hair. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here. Where is Batman?” Gordon said hesitantly. 

If anything, he and Batgirl avoided each other diligently in the past few months. They might have a truce, but that didn’t mean Gordon was ready to accept with open arms the woman who killed his son. Especially considering she might be…No, best not to think about it, Gordon shook his head slowly. 

“Batman can’t make it,” Batgirl explained quietly, “I am sorry, Commissioner. In fact he probably can’t make it for the foreseeable future.”  
Gordon’s alarm increased manifold. “What?! What happened to him? If there is anything I can do to help, please…” 

“Please don’t alarm yourself, Commissioner. He is not dead nor gravely injured. It’s just that… How should I put it? There are other priorities in his life, and he has to give up the cowl, for a while at least. A long while, that is.”

“Other… priorities?” Gordon’s mouth curled into a small frown, “That sounds distinctively unlike him.”

Batgirl gave him a sharp look, almost angry. But when she spoke her voice was soft and patient. “Surely you can relate, Commissioner. You have dedicated your entire life to this city, yet there must have been moments when you feel like you should dedicate your life to some other priorities.”

Gordon shuddered involuntarily. Of course Batgirl was talking about four years ago when his daughter was gunned down by the Joker, crippled and confined to a wheelchair. It was true, back then he wanted to quit his job and dedicate all of his attentions to taking care of his little girl, especially considering it was him that made his daughter a target to begin with. But in the end he stayed. Though that was hardly the point. 

“It is… it is that bad?” Gordon asked quietly. 

“Worse,” Batgirl murmured in reply, “Both of his children, ten and eleven years old respectively, were hurt. They are better now, but it was a very close call. Batman thought they were dead for sure for a very long time.”

They fell into a heavy silence after, but eventually Batgirl spoke again with a shake of her head, “But let us speak of your business, Commissioner, I am sure you did not turn on that signal idly. Do you have something else or is it still about the gang wars?”

“Something else,” Gordon replied quickly, “I have the files on two more missing children. Similar M.O. to the two cases last week you might have caught on local news. It really looks very…odd.”

Batgirl took the files from Gordon but kept her eyes trained on the police commissioner. “Odd, as in meta-human, or supernatural,” Batgirl prompted.

To which Gordon replied with a grimace, “I suppose I don’t see how it can be done by regular folks, probably some superhuman power involved. Be careful if you are looking into this, alright?”

Batgirl looked surprised as she nodded with a “thank you”. 

After leaving the police station roof, Batgirl barely turned a few corners when someone suddenly dropped in front of her, blocking the entire width of the narrow alley way. Batgirl did not seem surprised, rather she asked, “So how did it go? Did you manage to scare the gangs off or are we still staring at a full-blown gang war?”

The intruder straightened, revealing the red bat design on his grey body suit. “Barely,” Red Hood shrugged, “Alright, not really. They have more people and more arms than we first thought. With Roy and Kory off world, I don’t have quite the firepower to keep control over all those gangs, especially not those people who would make the Colombians look like house cats. I sent them a message, but they are not going to keep quiet forever.”

“How much would it help if I were to go with you next time?” Batgirl asked.

Red Hood gave her a long, scrutinizing look, before answering with a snort, “Only if you are willing to stuff Batman’s rules in his face and take an AK47 along for the ride.”

Batgirl gave him an annoyed glance. “Be serious, Hood.”

“I am quite serious, I need more firepower for this one. Just exactly where is Batman? He normally is all over this kind of stuff.”

“And I am also quite serious when I say he is retired and should stay so,” Batgirl answered in a very low voice, “The kids are back, you saw them; surely you understand.”

“Ha, the kids,” Red Hood tried to mask the tension in his voice, “I am amazed the kids let him retire. Speaking of the kids…We have firepower there.”

“No!” Batgirl exclaimed. After a pause she added, “I will go with you next time, and I will bring Strix. She is firepower plenty. And…and thanks for everything.”

Red Hood cocked his head and answered with a scoff, “Don’t thank me yet, nothing is settled. And what did the old cop want? You got more case files?”

“Disappearances, all children, two more this week,” Batgirl murmured, “Four in total now. I have to look into this right away.”

So Red Hood nodded and said, “I happened to be around the missing child’s home when they announced the missing person watch, so I checked out the sealed off crime scene. The kid went missing from her own bedroom late at night, yet there was not even a speck of dust from a second person. No evidence to even collect. All the doors were opened from the inside with no force, and the kid’s shoes are missing. Be careful, something is at work here.”

“Thank you, Red Hood,” Batgirl said earnestly, “I am glad I don’t have to do any of this alone.”

“And you won’t have to or even `be stuck with me if a certain someone didn’t come up with something as ludicrous as retirement.”  
“Red Hood!”

Red Hood shook his head slowly and said in a low voice, “D is something altogether different for him, more important than me, than you, than anyone else, I get it. I am past begrudging him for it. But that doesn’t mean retirement is a good idea, even for D’s sake. This will blow up in his face, just you wait.” 

With that he leapt up a second floor steel-frame balcony hanging over the alley and quickly disappeared up the jungle of brick and concrete. Batgirl could hear is voice float down from somewhere high-up, “Give me a whistle if you need help.”

What neither expected was how quickly they had to go to the one person neither cared to disturb.

It was almost eleven o’clock; Bruce Wayne was in a teleconferencing call with a few key partners in Asia when his cellphone suddenly rang. Loudly. The caller ID displayed a hidden number. Bruce’s brow furrowed, but he answered nonetheless. He couldn’t remember anyone set to call him at this hour. Yet this private cell phone number was known to only a select few, every call to this number would be important in some way or another. 

“And after every attempt at high-tech, he answers the parental permission line,” A familiar voice drawled out from the other end, angry but weary, exasperated, akin to desperate. 

“Jason?!” Bruce’s shock was palpable.

“We need help. Southborough, somewhere in that park, by the water. ”

“What is going on, Jason?!”

“Stuck in a supernatural maze of some sort; I wish I know what is going on. Have a crazed former Talon not that far from me… Damn it… And Barbara is dying. I don’t know how long I can hold out.”

“Hold on, Jason, hold on. I am coming.” 

The last word barely left his mouth when Bruce threw down the cell phone and rushed out of his conferencing call like a mad man. Good thing he decided to do this call from home. Without a single moment’s hesitation he hurled himself into the library, opened the entrance to the Batcave and disappeared down the shadowy depth.


	25. Reawakening

And I thought my regular partners are magnets for trouble, Red Hood mused with exasperation as he blocked another swipe from Strix’s sword. 

All around him strange and ghostly sights swirled like water, obscuring everything real. Behind him lay an unconscious Batgirl (and only unconscious, no more! He prayed to every god available), a little girl bawling her eyes out, and two more children that could be still alive or just bodies, he had no clue. And of course also a former Talon who was still trying to hack him to pieces. Another block, parry, and making a thrust that was easily evaded—boy, this could go on for a while. Yet time was the one thing he did not have. Whatever took Batgirl down was still out there, and those strange illusions, they were becoming more and more solid and harder to ignore and that could hardly be harmless. No, he needed to conclude this fast. 

And Bruce better get here fast too; he did say he was coming, right? 

A small part of Red Hood was praying silently for his old mentor’s arrival, even though his rational mind kept reminding him it was certainly a bad idea to depend on a deux ex machina of any sort in this situation. And Bruce wasn’t exactly the most dependable kind anyway. He needed to come up with something, by himself, right about now. 

Red Hood resolutely ignored the sword swinging his way and slicing through his shoulder, cutting to the bone, and continued to charge at Strix. He pinned the smaller woman to the ground with his entire weight. 

“Snap out of it, Strix!” He hissed, “You keep this up, we all die here, including Barbara. Is that what you want?”

He pressed his own energy sword against Strix’s face, hoping it would do some good. So far his All-swords seemed to be keeping him sane and standing, so perhaps it will also snap the former Talon out her sudden craze as well. But he only felt an elbow in his gut and Strix’s sword slashing at his arm once again. He forcibly quelled all urges to shrink back and roll away, but pushed the All-swords closer to Strix’s masked face still. He couldn’t possibly back away; he had absolutely no other way to deal with an undead Talon right now. 

Finally Strix stilled. Her head turned slightly, and a pair of gleaming goggles stared back at Red Hood. Not a breath stirred. They were frozen in that position for a long time, until Strix suddenly tossed her own sword aside, where it skidded on the ground with a distinctive stream of metallic rings, and then she reached towards Red Hood’s All-swords. Red Hood hesitated for a moment, but still handed her one of the twin energy blades. He didn’t trust this former Talon per se, but if giving her an All-sword can keep her sane and on his side for a while, it was a risk worth taking. 

The two of them stood up, each with an All-sword in hand, shaking and staring out at the illusions. They might be sane for now, but there was still no way out. Red Hood could only marvel at the absurdity of it all: he came back Gotham to avoid magic and to spend a good few months punching (or shooting a gun when nobody important is looking), only to get entangled with yet more magical nonsense.

Slowly, step by step, they retreated to where Barbara and the children lie sprawling. That one girl was still crying, in fact she never stopped. Red Hood wondered briefly why this particular girl was not affected by the evil magic all around them and still had the energy to cry. Did Barbara give her something?—He noticed the strange looking cloak wrapped around the girl. Then he reached towards the two other children, trying to find a sign of life. One was already cold and hard to the touch, but another boy child still had the faintest pulse. And Batgirl? Red Hood could hardly gather up the courage to check her pulse. Seeing Strix was already crouching by her side, All-sword in hand and looking like some protective wraith, Red Hood decided to stay a distance away. Batgirl had to be alive; otherwise Strix could hardly maintain even a modicum of calm.

And now what? They had to make at least some attempt to escape this ghostly deathtrap; they had to start walking. But there was no way for him and Strix to carry Batgirl and all the children, and to leave anyone behind was also unthinkable. After a moment’s pondering, Red Hood turned towards Strix and said, “Stay with Batgirl and the children for a while; I will go take a look around and see if I can break out of this god forsaken maze.”

He stood up and took off his helmet, closing his eyes behind the mask. The best way to defeat illusions is to simply not look at them anymore. He stood there, feeling the bitter cold December wind mussing his hair. A strong north gale was supposed to rip through Gotham all day long, so that means with the way the wind was blowing, he was facing south, towards the river that wandered through the park. Red Hood carefully turned on his heels a whole 180 degree and started walking in measured steps, keeping his eyes closed and groping about as a blind man, using only the wind as a guide for direction. He didn’t exactly have a plan, but the hope was that this illusory maze at least stopped somewhere, and beyond that the world was still normal. Walking in one direction should do the trick, but he made sure he was not walking towards the water. He couldn’t explain exactly why, but something instinctive warned him that river was a really bad idea right now. 

After perhaps half an hour of blind groping about, Red Hood risked opening his eyes, just to measure his current situation again. It was foggy all around him, but through the fog he could glimpse grass and bushes, even the corner of a wire fence another mile or so down the path. Was it working? Was he seeing the real city park? Red Hood quickened his steps towards the wire fence; at least let him touch something manmade and tangible first. 

He did not get very far when someone suddenly appeared in front of him, literally dropping out of the sky, long red hair a sheet of flame that lit up the dark, foggy surrounding.

“Jason!”

“Starfire?” Red Hood stared in front of him, “Weren’t you off world with Arsenal?”

“We just came back,” The alien princess said, “We tried contacting you but you wouldn’t answer. We were worried something had happened. What is going on here?”

Red Hood breathed a small sigh of relief and muttered drily, “Nothing good, that’s for sure. Starfire, promise me that the next time I want to run off to Gotham you will beat some sense into me. But for now I need your help. There is evil magic afoot, some sort of illusion that’s almost impossible to get out of. I have a couple associates with a few children still stuck back there, closer to the water. I need you to bring…”

Starfire nodded without letting him finish the sentence, “Of course. Let’s go then, we will get everyone out.” With that she turned and floated back towards the water, into that unnatural maze.

“Starfire, wait!” 

Red Hood reached for his teammate’s hand but stilled at the last moment. Wait, there was something off about this, something off about Starfire.

“Yes?” Starfire half-turned and looked back at Red Hood. She extended a hand and said, “Come on, Jason, let’s hurry and go save your friends. Take my hand, Jason.”

“I told you there is powerful magic at work; we need to go in with a plan,” Jason said slowly.

“What about a little magic? We can do this, so long as we do it together. You have plenty of experience with magic, you have the All-swords, and I will back you up.”

Red Hood nodded, but his gesture was slow and doubtful, and then he asked, “Kory, where is Roy? Why isn’t he here with you?”

Just as his voice fell a tall figure in red emerged from the mist, a quiver of arrows slung across his back and masked face half hidden behind a baseball cap. 

“I am here,” Arsenal said, “Sorry for being a little late, but I can’t exactly fly. Come on, let’s not waste any more time by just standing around. Let’s go.” He too extended a hand towards Red Hood.

Their only reply was the All-sword cracking their way. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Red Hood said vehemently, “You two are nothing like the real Arsenal and Starfire, and how stupid do you take me for, that I would buy the sudden appearance of my off-world teammates smack in the middle of a Gotham city park?”

“Jason, you are crazy! You…” Starfire—or whatever it was that looked like the alien princess—cried out indignantly, only to be cut short by the All-sword.

There was another shriek, before the Starfire and Arsenal disappeared into the mist from which they appeared. Red Hood stood still, eyes tightly shut, trying to still his wild heart beats and breathe deeply. After a few moments he turned himself northward and started walking once more. He could not possibly abandon his plan, even if it seemed that the illusions were trailing in his wake. He really had no other idea for now.

He barely stumbled a few steps along when he heard another low and rough voice calling out, “Red Hood!”

Red Hood’s eyes snapped open and he saw a towering figure before him, darker than the inkiest shade of the night, long cape swishing in the half-real mist like a storm. 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me! Aren’t illusions supposed to be happy things? Kory and Roy are impossible to beat, sure, but I can so do better than this,” Red Hood muttered, swinging the single All-sword in his hand with fervor.

“Stop it!” The Batman likeness growled while dodging, “It is really me here, Red Hood, so put your sword towards something more useful than swinging at me! Where is Batgirl?”

“And even as a delusion you are still a bit of a douche,” Red Hood bared his teeth and threw all of himself into the attack. 

Batman parried and blocked, his moves rather too solid and forceful for a mere illusion, and the All-sword did not seem to affect him the way it sent Starfire and Arsenal illusions retreating with shrieks. It was all very odd, but Red Hood was at the end of his rope and hardly calm enough for serious analysis and decision making. There was a part of him that realized he was not thinking clearly and there was something wrong about attacking the Batman figure blindly, but he could not break himself out of this dogged motion of swing and thrust. Perhaps the illusions affected him much more than he realized. 

“Jason!” Batman cried out loudly. 

He rammed into Red Hood full force and pinned the smaller man down, at the price of taking a powerful sword slash to the arm, ignoring how the mystical blade burned through his protecting gear and sprayed blood everywhere. 

“Stay still for a second!” Batman growled.

Just then white glare lit up the entire glade, and for a few moments it was bright as day. Tendrils of electricity snaked up from ground towards the sky, like blue-white rain. And when the light died down there was only a city park around them: night sky, dirt path, grass and flowers, and clear, crisp, fog-less air. 

Red Hood drew a long breath, before muttering, “It’s really you?”

“It’s really me,” Batman said and rose from the ground, “And you? Alive and back to your senses?”  
Red Hood shrugged, “Pretty much, unless you are yet another illusion.”

Batman gave him a look, but asked after more pressing matters instead. “Where is Batgirl? Take me to the others.” 

Unlike the Starfire and Arsenal lookalike, Batman did not offer his hand. Red Hood vaguely noticed this difference and actually felt the more comfortable for it. He would never take a hand offered to him in this situation anyway, since he could not be sure he was not seeing yet another evil apparition, and taking anything offered by unnatural creatures is a terrible idea. But there was no offer, and it was more likely the real Batman then. 

“This way,” Red Hood said.

As they moved back along the path, Red Hood asked, “What was that you did? That electric firework?”

“It was what it looked like: electricity. Currents at five thousand amps, one hundred kilovolt, generated by a device carrying a decent curse that drains magic,” Here Batman paused, and there seemed to be a soundless sigh, “I thought this device would never see the light of day, but it was good to see it could still serve some use.” With that a sheet of light crackled into being before Batman, and the unnatural sights fled like leaves before the winter wind. 

The rest passed in a blur for Red Hood. Blowing past the magical illusions, losing sight of the villain responsible, rushing the children to the hospital, having that one very fortunate girl return to them a magical artefact of mythical proportion—apparently Batgirl gave her a magical cloak that protected her against whatever evil that was out there, that was how she had the strength to cry through the whole thing… He could barely register it all. It was only when he was sitting inside the Batcave once more, having his slashed arm sewn up by Alfred, that he could finally be sure he was no longer hallucinating. Bruce fussed over Barbara, setting up various scientific and not-so-scientific tests to figure out what was wrong with her, but apparently to no avail. 

“What is wrong with Barbara?” Jason asked, feeling a new fear slowly taking over his entire body. 

“She is alive,” Bruce said brusquely, “Her vitals are strong, but she simply would not wake up. What happened?”

Jason shook his head and said, “I have no idea; when I reached the place she was already down. I don’t even know what she fought against. You should have brought Strix along—why didn’t you again? She was there the whole time, saw the whole thing, and she is probably worried sick over Barbara right now.”

Only to have Bruce bit back sharply, “I don’t care who vouches for her, an undead Talon is not getting anywhere near me or mine.”

And the one who vouches for her is ond not yours? 

Jason glanced at Barbara’s prone form and involuntarily balled his hand into a fist. 

“I suppose you don’t need to hear how Strix protected me and this entire manor during the invasion then, Master Bruce,” Alfred said in a dry voice. 

Bruce sighed and muttered, “You are not helping the situation at all, Alfred.”

“Finding the young lady and asking her what happened might help immensely.”

Before Bruce could respond to Alfred’s irrefutable point, two small figures suddenly burst into the cave. Bruce closed his eyes momentarily. Everything was falling back to that terrible and very much wrong state of normalcy, despite his best effort. He should have known it would all fall apart the moment he put on the cowl again. 

“How did you two get in here?” He growled out, “You have no access!”

Damian gave his father an annoyed look and answered, “Come now, father, you think I can’t crack your system with two weeks of free time on my hand? I coded some of it with you!”

Billy was oblivious to this conversation. He rushed up to where Barbara lay, gripped Barbara’s hand tightly and hugged it close to his chest. He stared at Barbara’s pale and still face and his big blue eyes were growing watery. 

“They stole her soul,” The child whispered. 

There was a long stunned silence in the cave. No one knew what to say, and Billy went on in a low, quavering voice, “I should have known; I should have realized that evil spirit two weeks ago wouldn’t be the last of it. It was Hades himself making a threat and still I just ignored it. I… I can’t do anything right…”

Bruce was on the verge of saying something, but his child’s last sentence made him retreat back into silence. He didn’t know what he should say. He had every mind to fight his own offspring to maintain this life without superheroics, but he wasn’t prepared to face Billy’s bitter regret and self-accusations. Suddenly Damian’s words sprang back to mind: Is that what you want Billy to live with then, this daily guilt of shirking his duty? He was made a god on Earth. Now he is going to turn his back on everything he should be doing.

“It’s not your fault.”

It was Damian who spoke. He was now standing beside his brother, clutching Billy’s arm in a tight grip. He said with an utterly serious expression, “I am sorry I never just said this before, I thought it was self-evident. You haven’t always made the right decision, whatever. But it’s not your fault. None of what happened with the Crime Syndicate and now this is your fault. You are not accountable for every crazy evil villain’s schemes.”

Billy raised his head and looked back. His eyes were still watery, but he looked ready and determined. He said quietly, “Doesn’t matter now, my fault or not, the important thing is I can fix this. I am the best person to fix all of this. Not doing everything perfectly is still better than not doing anything at all. So I have to do this.”

Damian smirked in response, “Good, so father hasn’t brainwashed you completely yet. I swear, if you kept up this mopping I would have to disown you. It is unbefitting of a Wayne and a hero.”

Billy gave his brother a small smile and stole another glance at Bruce, who was standing aside utterly rooted and speechless the whole time. Billy’s smiled turned a shade sad, but he did not hesitate. He only murmured to Damian, “Sorry, I should probably go alone. You won’t be much of a help this time, especially when I go pay Hades a visit.” 

“Just get to it, and come home for breakfast.”

Billy raced towards the elevator, ready to leave the Batcave behind. Perhaps to leave this life as a regular ten-year old, this life as the ordinary son of a billionaire behind too? No one tried to stop him and no one said a word. When the child entered the elevator Bruce could not help but cry out, 

“Billy!”

The boy shook his head and murmured, “I am really sorry, Mr. Wayne.”

And then the doors slid shut.


	26. Reconciliation

When the sun rose Bruce Wayne was still sitting in the Batcave. He did not wear the cowl, but he sat there in full uniform, all alone in a dark corner of his cave. Just a few hours after Billy left Barbara woke up. She was confused and her memories were hazy, but she looked fine otherwise. So Billy—nay, Captain Marvel—did fix the problem quickly, even though the problem was as ominous as stolen souls. After making sure Barbara really was okay, Bruce sent her off with Jason as the guard. Then he sent Alfred and Damian to sleep as well; uncharacteristically neither the old butler nor the rebellious boy objected to his plan to brood alone in the cave. So here he was, while a new dawn greets the world, still wallowing in misery all alone in the shadows. Was he waiting for someone, or something? He did not know. In fact he had no idea what to expect. What should one expect of a son who was also a god among men?

Just then his communicator sounded. As a force of habit, Bruce pulled his cowl on before clicking the communicator’s switch. And then Captain Marvel’s face appeared. It was not an unfamiliar face, raven hair and blue eyes, heroic features, appropriately half hidden by that gold-rimmed white hood, which only augmented the mystery and majesty of his image. Captain Marvel looked remarkably like Superman, a presence so glorious and awe-inspiring it cannot be mere human. But now Bruce knew, he knew that contrary to everything his senses tell him, beneath that divine visage was his ten-year old son. He raised his hand and touched his own face, and there it was, his cowl which obscured Bruce Wayne so effectively. They were father and son and they could not even speak to each other using their true faces. Suddenly Bruce was terrified. 

“Batman,” Captain Marvel began slowly, “The problem is all resolved. Batgirl should be fine now, as should that unconscious child she recovered. Unfortunately the two children who were taken first are beyond saving now, I am terribly sorry. But I had a little chat with Hades. There will be no more sirens or harpies in Gotham city stealing souls, or any other such things.”

“You went to find Hades all by yourself?” Batman asked, feeling his chest constrict with panic. Yet his voice was perfectly flat and calm, as if this were really nothing more than a routine League discussion over the latest case. 

“I asked Wonder Woman to go with me too. If it were just me it would be a lot harder to make the god of death himself back off, but Diana was very helpful; she had dealings with Hades before too of course…” Captain Marvel trailed off, as if unsure how to continue. The two heroes stared at each other for a while, before Captain Marvel spoke again, “Batman, sir, can we talk right now? Alone, somewhere quiet?”

Silently Batman drew a long, deep breath, before saying, “You want to talk like this?” 

“Yes, like this; it is probably easier for me this way, sir, so I can say everything I need to say.”

“Come home, just come home then, and we can talk.” Batman’s voice was beginning to show hairline cracks, the first telltale signs of the oncoming flood. 

Captain Marvel nodded, and he seemed to vanish right on spot, and the next second he flashed into being, hovering in the middle of the Batcave and upsetting a host of bats that had just returned to roost. Batman all but leapt up from his seat. The moment’s shock was so great he became completely Batman for a second or two.

“Captain Marvel! Do not ever come in the Batcave this way ever again or you will find out exactly why I have a five-hundred million Watt taser gun,” Batman growled, “What did you do exactly?!”

“Oh. Oh. I am sorry,” Captain Marvel looked sheepish, yet strangely more relaxed than before, “I didn’t want to go through the manor and I don’t know where the entrance leading outside is, so I just teleported in. I didn’t think you would mind, since you know me, sorry.”

“Just teleported in. You mean any magic user can just waltz into the Batcave.”

Captain Marvel scratched his head, “Um, I am not just any magic user? This does take a lot of power. Also I can teleport in because I have been in the cave a few times and I know exactly where it is and everything. Most teleportation magic requires really good knowledge about where you are going. And I didn’t used to be able to do this; I seem to have more raw power now since coming back from the sun, a new body and all, I am just learning about them too, I mean…” His comments were sailing into dangerous territory again, so Captain Marvel quickly changed gear and added, “But you are right, the Batcave can use a bit more magical protection; secrecy is already a good weapon of course, but a few more wards wouldn’t hurt. I can set up something permanent if you want, but might need to find a few magical items though... Um, so do you want to?”

That was exactly how Captain Marvel always spoke to Batman. Before the imposing and unapproachable Dark Knight of Gotham, Captain Marvel had always been respectful, candid, confident but quite eager to please, and very much prone to childish babbling. This was just like the first time they met, Batman and Captain Marvel, fellow members of the Justice League and faithful allies, but nothing more.  
Batman did not respond. He stood there still like a statue for a long time, and then he seemed to fall back into his chair. He reached a hand towards his cowl, as if wanting to unmask himself, but Captain Marvel cried out, “No! Please don’t take off your cowl, not just yet, sir.”

Batman froze again, before whispering, “So you rather talk to Batman.”

“Yes, so I can say everything I need to say to you, sir. I don’t know if I can do it if you are not wearing your cowl, Batman, sir,” Words came out of Captain Marvel’s mouth in a jumbled rush, “When I first told Cyborg I moved to Gotham he was worried you would be upset, and he wanted me to promise Captain Marvel would never appear in Gotham. But I wondered, isn’t helping people in need more important than keeping Batman happy? Cyborg could not say no to that. I don’t mean to upset you, but I cannot just ignore all those people who might need my help either. I know I am not a real superhero, I know I am not smart enough and mature enough to do everything right, but I have all this power and I can help people. To not use my power would be like blocking off emergency exits or parking in front of fire hydrants or something. If people are hurt or worse because I am not there to help them, then it is my fault. I know you have been through a lot, sir, and I don’t mean to make anything worse for you, but if I don’t do my job there will be more parents who lose children. In fact there are, because I wasn’t there.”

Captain Marvel’s hands balled into his fists, and his face darkened. Thinking of those children lured to their deaths by unchecked sirens seemed to make Captain Marvel even more determined, and he went on, “I will move back to Fawcett City, I will stay out of Gotham. I won’t ever get Damian involved with my bad guys, I swear. I won’t let anything happen to Damian either; I will always keep an eye on him and protect him, please don’t worry. And we don’t ever have to work together on League things. In fact I can even leave the Justice League if it bothers you.”

There, he said it. All of it. After that speech Captain Marvel simply hovered there, as stately as ever, resolute and undeniable.  
Batman stood up from his chair. He said in his usual calm but cutting manner, “Don’t be a fool, Captain Marvel, what need is there to leave the Justice League? We value you as we value any other member. We could not have defeated the Crime Syndicate if you did not take care of Ultraman and ensure Grid’s downfall. The League did not yet—in fact no one had a chance to thank you for your sacrifice yet, but we all know we owe you a debt we can never repay. As for Gotham, if you live here you have every right to make it your operating base. There are others here beside me.”

After saying these few sentences Batman fell back into his chair. He simply collapsed, as if speaking just drained all of his strength. He ripped off his cowl almost vengefully.

“Batman said his piece to Captain Marvel. Now will you let Bruce Wayne speak to his son?”

There was a long silent pause, and then a whispered word, before the entire Batcave was ignited by a brilliant white flash. When the light died down Billy Batson stood there once more, fidgeting with obvious discomfort. “Mr. Wayne,” The child began nervously, “I, I…. This is… I am really…”

“I am sorry, Billy,” Bruce walked towards his child and knelt down on one knee, “I am sorry for not telling you the truth from the beginning. I am sorry for making you live with impossible choices and misplaced guilt. I am sorry for breaking my promise—I promised you I would always help you if you want to do good things, and I did not; I proved to be your hindrance.”

Billy gave the man who was his father a small and very hesitant smile. He said, “It’s okay, Mr. Wayne, I wasn’t telling the truth either, I am sorry about that too. And when you promised me you would always help me, of course you didn’t really mean with superhero stuff. That’s not really breaking a promise…”

But Bruce only went on, “And I am sorry I never insisted on being your father. Of course you may address me however you like, but I would like to hear you call me ‘father’. Do you know why I was desperate enough to retire? Not only for the fear of losing you or Damian again. I cannot bear to be simply Batman to you, to be nothing more than a work colleague, or a friendly ally at best.”

“But now it seems that is exactly what you want, a colleague, not a father.”

Billy’s face turned deep crimson, and he muttered, “It’s not that I don’t want family; I want it more than anything else. But I can’t not be Captain Marvel. I can’t just accept all that power and then run away to enjoy a happy life on my own, ignoring all those people who might need me. If there is a way to give back all that power, or to pass the power to someone else, I would do it. I don’t want to see you unhappy, Mr. Wayne, but I can’t give that power back now. So if I go back to Fawcett then you don’t have to deal with me anymore, and Damian won’t get hurt because of me either, it will be easier for you…” 

“Do you really think so?” Bruce cut the boy off abruptly. His voice was pitched dangerously low, and on his face was a brewing storm.   
Billy bowed his head and didn’t reply. 

“Do you really think I would be happier to be short of a son, to have a child ripped away from my life, to be a stranger to my own flesh and blood?” Bruce’s voice was falling back to that Batman growl now, “Who am I to you exactly, Billy? What do you take me for?”

At that comment Billy reached towards his father and held Bruce’s arms. Bruce thought he could feel the warmth of the boy’s small hands, all the way through the metal and the Kevlar of his gauntlets. It was just like their first meeting, back in that derelict building in Fawcett City, the billionaire CEO and one homeless boy, yet it was the penniless child who first reached out and offered all that he had.   
“You are one of the greatest heroes I have ever known,” Billy murmured fiercely, “And my family. Other than turning my back on Captain Marvel, I would do anything for you, father, anything.” 

Bruce stared at the boy standing in front of him and was suddenly struck by the truth of those vehement words. Billy really would do just about anything for his family. Billy already did everything for his family. Abruptly he raised his arms and hugged the child close to his chest, this small and fragile body so filled with unbelievable strength. 

“So do one more thing for me, Billy,” Bruce said, “I am sorry I haven’t been what you wanted and needed all this time, but it will change, I swear it. I can be your partner and your ally and your colleague and everything else if that is you want. But let me be your father too.”  
Bruce thought he heard the boy sob and whisper, “Of course, father.”


	27. Home

Dick Grayson may be dead to the world, he may be a top secret agent of Spyral, he may have trouble wearing his real face and name anywhere, but he would never let any of this stop him from going home for Christmas. Even when he had no convenient alias and no credible paperwork, he sneaked into Gotham as soon as he heard Damian and Billy returned, climbing through the window like some common thief. Now that he actually had a cover story, nothing would keep him from his family for Christmas.

Dick leaned back in his airplane seat—first class seat, flying from Rio de Janeiro to Gotham City. He focused his eyes back on the magazine in his hand and pretended to read. The article was about billionaire Bruce Wayne recovering a biological son from the streets; it was hardly news to anyone, but he had to play his role properly. 

The rotund businessman beside him leaned over a little and said with a well-meaning laugh, “That’s a three months old magazine; even with Bruce Wayne’s name people are over it by now. You haven’t kept up with gossip news lately?”

“Yeah, I never knew before,” Dick answered, “But this piece of news is what dragged me out of the Amazons and back to America.”

“Oh? May I ask how so?” The businessman was obviously interested, probably out of boredom.

But Dick still eyed him carefully and asked, “You are not a reporter, are you? Or maybe a business rival of Bruce Wayne?”

The businessman laughed out loud, “Come now, very few people can claim to be Bruce Wayne’s rivals. I actually work for him. Aaron Knox, manager at purchasing in Wayne Tech.” With that he extended a hand for a handshake.

“Richard Ordway, rainforest conservationist,” Dick answered, “I had been stuck in the rainforest for more than year, didn’t really contact the outside world. I really didn’t know anything going on back in the States. Apparently that kid Bruce Wayne found? He is the son of my cousin, my last living relative now, and he invited me to Gotham for Christmas.”

The truth was Billy really did have a young uncle by the name of Richard Ordway. He was not very close to the Batsons but he was at their funeral, and Billy did remember meeting this distant uncle a couple times. Unfortunately Richard Ordway’s passion for nature’s greatest mysteries led him to the most unexplored and dangerous parts of the Amazonian rainforest, where he ultimately met his doom. Billy told his family sadly that he himself went looking for this uncle as Captain Marvel not long after obtaining his power, only to learn of his uncle’s passing from the locals. No authority was ever aware of Richard Ordway’s death, and Billy managed to obtain all of Richard’s (rather meager) personal belongings, including a passport—a passport that Dick Grayson planned to renew as the man himself in Gotham.

Yet even with such a perfect cover story, Dick did not expect to be picked up by Alfred at the airport. 

“You are of course always a welcome sight, Alfred,” Dick commented as he got into the limo, “But seeing it’s almost noon on Christmas Eve; I thought you would be busy stuffing turkey and such?”

The old butler’s mouth twitched. “You will see the reasons soon, Master Richard,” He said. 

So when Dick entered the manor, he was instantly assailed by a torrent of sound: people shouting, oil sizzling, the vent working with extra vengeance, and then crash!—that would be a plate or a bowl meeting its end on the floor.

Alfred’s expression became even darker and the old man murmured, “That better not be my good china.”

When they entered the kitchen Dick had to take a deep breath. The sight of Barbara kneading pastry dough in the kitchen of Wayne Manor may be a little bit odd, but quite welcome. But the same could not be said for Damian standing over an enormous turkey carcass and a large bowl of stuffing, a knife in hand—why on Earth would you ever need a knife to stuff a bloody turkey?

“Damian, why don’t you just stuff the turkey, and I will truss it,” Barbara said with a hint of exasperation, “And do put the knife down, sweetheart, you don’t need it to stuff a turkey.”

“I can tie strings around a dead turkey’s legs!” Damian protested while poking at the bird with his knife. 

Bruce made a strange noise in the back of his throat but concentrated on his own task, which was cutting up vegetable for the stew. If one had to comment, it would probably be about how clueless he looked. Maybe that was why Batman didn’t care for weapons; why, he couldn’t even wield a kitchen knife properly.

Jason and Tim were huddled over the deep fryer, doing god knows what. Dick couldn’t think for the life of him what Christmas dish could possibly require deep frying. Billy was the only male member of the party who looked like he knew what he was doing, expertly whipping the simmering cranberry sauce and all, until he grabbed the entire box of the sugar and tipped the whole thing over the pot without ever sparing a second glance at the measuring cups. 

“Master William!” Alfred said, aghast, “Have mercy with the sugar!”

Billy only made a face. “But Alfred! I tried a couple of these cranberries and they are really, really tart. Trust me, all that sugar is so necessary.” And with that that he tipped the box over some more.

Dick gave Alfred a hopeless look and muttered, “How is the kitchen still standing, Alfred?”

“You should join the fray, Master Richard, and then the kitchen for sure will no longer remain standing,” Alfred deadpanned.   
And Dick could only shrug with a giant grin. “I as well right?”

He scooped over by Barbara’s side and made an exaggerated flourish and bow. “How may I of service, my fair lady?”

Barbara only gave him an extremely skeptical look, “I don’t know, mince pie is pretty tricky, and I still remember the last time you tried to cook for me.”

“Babs! How long are you going to hold that egg over my head? I was a teenager!”

“Oh no you don’t!” Barbara elbowed him in the chest with a laugh, “Two months ago! When you tried to bake store-bought cookie dough for me and still burned every single one of them!”

Just then there was commotion from the deep-frying corner. 

“There it is,” Tim said, “Absolute perfection.”

“And you really think we should eat this,” Jason drawled. 

“Gar told me it’s heaven on Earth. The kid may be a bit odd, but he has good taste for junk food.”

That promptly made everyone turn and look, only to blink with confusions. 

“Oh dear,” Alfred muttered, “Oreo cookies deep fried in pancake batter.”

“You can deep fry Oreo?” Damian’s overflowing interest was slightly alarming. 

“Huh, I have seen it in fairs before!” Billy said with a giggle, “But no one makes it at home, and for Christmas? That’s silly.”

Tim had the good grace to look just a touch embarrassed before saying, “I mean, you guys didn’t give us anything to do.”

Barbara said while wrapping pastry dough and stuffing it in the fridge, “Hate to say it like this, I love you and all, but the only thing we still need is the fruit cake, and no one except Alfred is going to make that. Fruit cake is bad enough, but you two will turn it into a biological weapon.”

“Yet you let the real Waynes cook,” Jason said with an accusing look at Damian, who still had that knife in hand. 

“Billy can cook circles around the rest of you boys together!” 

“And the little demon can kill a dead turkey,” Tim murmured with a snicker.

“Watch it Drake!”

This rambunctious conversation was halted by Bruce coughing pointedly. “No one eats deep fried Oreo under my roof,” The head of the brood said in a low grumble, “No decent parent feeds children this kind of stuff.”

“And you are being a Grinch, father,” Billy laughed. 

“Hardly; Christmas should not involve deep-fried Oreo to begin with.”

“To be honest, I really don’t think you boys would want any,” Tim murmured darkly. His face was a sight to behold after taking a nibble of a finished product, and he promptly tossed the rest of the cookie into the trash bin.

“Oh man up replacement,” Jason said while munching rather happily, “It’s not that bad. In fact, it’s not bad at all, for us regular folks who aren’t used to fine dining that is.”

Jason tried to pretend he was glibly ignoring Bruce’s latest comment, but when Bruce trained a disapproving gaze on him, he swallowed the cookie bits in his mouth extra fast, only to gasp, “Wa…water.”

Alfred released a very long and resigned sigh before passing him a glass of water. 

The chaos lasted well into the afternoon, but to everyone’s surprise the kitchen held its ground, and the various food items didn’t turn out to be utter disasters either. Just when the turkey was about to come out of the oven, Barbara washed her hands and took her coat from the closet. 

“I really should get going,” She said with a note of regret, “But it has been a blast, thank you for having me over, Bruce; it is so nice to see everyone at this time of the year.” She was looking at Dick at the last sentence, and Dick smiled back at her tenderly.

“I thought the Commissioner wanted you to stay for dinner,” Alfred commented.

“Because he volunteered himself to do the most detested holiday shift at the precinct,” Barbara shook her head, “The way he sees it, since we won’t have much of a Christmas dinner anyway, as well let others have it. But I can hardly let him stay at the precinct alone. I let him think I would stay here for dinner so I can surprise him properly.”

“At least wait until the turkey is done so you can take some,” Alfred said.

“And to rob you guys the opportunity of letting a Wayne carve the turkey?” Barbara laughed, “Oh no, Alfred, I would never! I would rather have you videotape the carving and then we will all have something to pass on to our grandchildren.”

So amidst Damian’s indignant protest of “how dare you I am a master swordsman I can slice a turkey” Alfred nodded and answered in a most serious manner, “You can count on it, Miss Barbara.”

It started snowing early in the evening. Even the tireless sin city that was Gotham seemed calm and quiet on this particular evening. It was a night for gathering and family, and even in the nearly empty police precinct it was no different. Jim Gordon sat on the roof of the building with his daughter, watching the snow fall on a silent Gotham. The usually bare and bleak rooftop was made cozy by an outdoor space heater, lots of tarp and area rugs, and then of course enough food to feast a squadron. 

“You really went all the way for the ‘surprise’,” Jim Gordon said with a laugh, eyeing the food, “The two of us could hardly eat it all, and it is definitely you who is taking home the leftover.”

“For my amazing surprise, you don’t sound too ‘surprised’.” 

“I didn’t think my baby girl would leave me alone on Christmas Eve, so I was expecting something. But I just thought you’d find a Chinese restaurant that still delivers, hardly this feast. ”

“Ah, so I did do something right and there is some surprise, good to hear. Daddy, can you pass the salt and pepper?”

Jim reached for the condiments at the end of the spread, only to have a hand pass it along to him. “Thank you,” Jim said instinctively, before becoming very still from shock, “Batman? But it’s Christmas Eve!”

“I know. And you are still working.”

Jim blinked, “Um, I thought you are retired?”

“Not anymore.”

“And I didn’t turn on the searchlight.”

“I can see that. This was not entirely my idea, Commissioner, a colleague of mine wanted to meet you, and thought tonight would be appropriate.” 

Jim became even more alarmed, and already he was starting to look disapproving, “You have yet another Robin? Look, Batman, I am not sure about…”

“No welcome for me? But we have met before, Commissioner,” Following the voice a small figure in bold red, yellow, and green sprang from the shadows, swift and nimble like bird on wings.

“What?! You…I thought you…”Jim was feeling rather out of his depth, “Have we really met before? Are you who I think you are?”

“Does it matter?” Robin shrugged at him, “But for your peace of mind, Commissioner, yes we have met before.”

“And is that Nightwing?”

The tall and slim figure crouching in a shadowy corner wore Nightwing’s exact costume, only with the blue design instead of the red from before, and his hair was gold like the sun. 

“You can call him Nightwing,” Batman said cryptically, “It’s the same heart underneath the hood.”

Knowing Nightwing to be a very sore topic for Batman Jim did not pursue it further. He scanned the area around very carefully, and saw the feather-shaped ends of a red cape flash in and out of the shadows and also the faint reflections of snow light from a red helmet. Jim could not help but smile a little and comment, “It seems like you have got the whole family here, as befitting of the occasion. But I have met all of them before. So which new family member wanted to meet me exactly? Nightwing?”

“It’s actually me, sir!” 

Accompanying the voice a figure dropped down from the sky, now standing right in front of Jim and Batman. He was taller than even Batman, and just as broad, garbed in brilliant red with a flowing gold-rimmed white cape, stately and glorious as if a god on Earth. But this divine figure wore such a bright and innocent expression on his face that one was instantly reminded of a child. 

“This is Captain Marvel,” Batman said, “A fellow member of the Justice League. He recently moved into Gotham area, so you might see much more of him in the future.”

Jim had to blink again. He had seen Batman interact with his Justice League teammates a few times, and as far as Jim could remember, Batman could not stand having a super-powered being wandering the streets of Gotham. What was going on here?

But Captain Marvel already extended a hand and said with an unusual but infectious eagerness, “Commissioner, I have heard so much about you from Batman and others, and I am absolutely honored to meet you, sir. And today is just the perfect day to meet you, sir.”

So Jim took the hand with a smile and shook it, “Thank you, and I am honored to meet you too, Captain Marvel. Welcome to Gotham, and I hope you will feel at home here.”

Captain Marvel shot a glance at Batman and the brood of birds scattered across the roof top, and an enormous grin overtook his features again. He looked directly at Jim with shining eyes and said, “I most definitely will, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and leaving comments! It's been great! There will be more bits and tales set in this universe coming along and I hope to see you all again. :)


End file.
